Sunsets
by write-love-latte
Summary: What is a sunset, really? It heals, it wounds it soothes and it outrages...It can be a carressing hand, or a stinging whip...To Draco, it's his salvation, to Ginny, it just may lead her to her Prince Charming...DMGW R&R ANGST!DONE
1. Chapter 1

Sunsets

**Summary: What is a sunset, really? Is it an illusory joke the Gods play on the minds of humans? Or is it as real as those around you? Draco and Ginny are about to discover the power of sunsets as they embark on inner battles that may bring them together, or push them farther apart. Together, they will discover the Sunset.**

Draco knew he wouldn't cry. He was so numb, his soul so detatched that it just didn't seem to matter whether or not he cried, because he simply couldn't feel it. Couldn't feel the tears whell up in his eyes, couldn't feel the sobs as they choked his throat. His body was crying, in the way any person's would, but his soul was just there, and at the same time...wasn't.

Part of him was dead.

His way out onto the roof of the Manor was a shakey one, his legs, like rubber, wobbly and unsure like that of child newly learning to walk. He felt fragile, like he could just fall to the floor and shatter into a thousand porcelain pieces...but he knew he wouldn't, he knew that he couldn't--that his mind would just guide his broken body to the roof, turn him due west and open his eyes to the fiery sight before him. And thats just what happened. Draco stepped out onto his windowsill, and jumped, falling a mere two feet before his rear hit the black tiles of the Manor's roof. He carefully picked his way along the gentle slope, until he reached one edge of the huge house's roof. It was the western-most edge of the house, and by far Draco's favorite part of the whole slab of hellish brick and cement.

And so he sat, trying to forget, closing his eyes in reminisce...

* * *

He'd been four when he'd found this place. Four, an innocent child, young and oblivious to the world.

Nevertheless, he'd had his first beating.

What had it been for?

Sneezing.

_"Malfoys don't sneeze , you ingrate!"_ his father had snarled, and Draco had seen his mother turn away with tears in her eyes...right before his father's hand had come down on the back of his neck, knocking him out cold.

When he'd awaken, he was in his bedroom, the silken sheets clasping onto his body, like a million cold and unfeeling hands. Draco had kicked them off, running a hand on the back of his neck. It was still sore, and after checking his appearance in the mirror, the many bruises and oozing cuts showed that his father had no where near stopped after lending him that blow to his head--the one that had caused a concussion, he now knew, remembering how his pupils had been dilated.

He had crept silently to the window, had opened it and lain his head on the sill, peering straight forward...On one of those four-year-old-whims, he'd carefully removed the mesh that served as a barrier from him and the roof, and slipped nimbly out of the window, all his nerves on fire with the knowledge that there would soon be discovery.

He had automatically walked towards the light, the light that had led him to the western side of the house...the light that had taken away his breath in sheer awe, sheer wonder...

The sunset.

* * *

Draco re-opened his eyes, his jean-clad legs dangling over the edge of the roof. Then he looked up, and found his breathe stolen in much the same way it had been all those years ago, when he was four.

The sunset gleamed a rich array of colors, pink, yellow, orange, red, all blended together upon a baby blue sky that was quickly turning navy. Draco could see the background of stars waiting to burst out into the sky, and it added even more to his fascination. The sky was endless, it was beautiful...it was pure. The sunset was gorgeous and luminous, shining a path of light through his darkened soul, awakening him, causing his numb soul to rejoice.

The sunset.

Draco's sunset.

Draco smiled.

**AN: Here it is, Sunsets rewritten. Bound to be angsty, if anybody knows anything. :P...I've incorporated so many new ideas into this, I can't want to see what you guys will say. Reviiieeewww, pleeeeeaaassseee!**


	2. Chapter 2

Sunsets

**Author's Note: Some disturbing stuff here. Don't say I didn't warn you.**

Draco hated having to be within ten miles of Lucius Malfoy. The man was a lunatic; a powerful, vindictive lunatic who would go to any extreme for revenge or leisure. He was a sick person, even Draco had to admit; the very man he had looked up to as a young boy: his hero, his role model, his father. This same man had so quickly morphed into some one Draco wished he had never ever set eyes on; a man who felt nothing at beating his only son senseless, for absolutely no reason--a man whose anger was all-consuming, and a man who expressed his lustful vengeance in ways that only an insanely demented person could.

Ever since Lucius and Narcissa had begin having problems; small issues with each other, issues that could have been so easily resolved...Lucius had begun his abusive rampage. First, it was only Narcissa that received his punishments--to him, she had been the only one at fault... Eventually, Lucius had become more irritable, easier to enrage, and in Draco had seen unwelcome reflections of his cursed wife. _"You're just like your ungrateful bitch of a mother!"_ Lucius would shriek in some frightful terror, before bringing his heavy, bruising hands down on his young son. The beatings had started when Draco was four; he took them as part of his discipline, at first, and was glad that most of the time he passed out before his father reached the pinnacle of his violent surges--but when he was not so lucky, he began to realize that his father's behaviour towards him and his mother was much more than common juvenile discipline.

Lucius took some sort of sick pleasure in it; watching the tears pour down his helpless son's cheeks, hearing the yelps of pain and the sobs of anguish. He liked watching the blood ooze from tender skin, the red welts swelling and the finger marks bruising into blue black kisses. _"You deserve it, little son of a bitch,"_ he would sneer insanely, as Draco whimpered and cowered away from the looming figure, _"This is what you were made for."_

Draco was a proud boy, and regardless of his father's violent disposition, always managed to cover up once he started at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. He would brag about his riches and his father's Death Eater connections, smirking in much the same way Lucius did, carrying himself in a similar fashion and causing what sorrow his young self could. He tried to be as much as Lucius as possible, hoping that maybe his father would finally approve of something and love him the way he had before, before Draco had become too much like his mother for Lucius to bear. Internally, Draco would wince at everything he did that could be associated with Lucius; did he really want to become like this man? This man who would shower him with blows of clenched fists, or slaps of leather belts across his back?

Draco learned to ignore everything; his father's ministrations and insults, the slaps and the blows. Eventually, though he still hated the outbursts with a fiery passion, he became used to them--the crack of the whip on his back became familiar, and through this Draco became empty. It was as if every hit sucked the vigor out of him, making him only a mere shell of what he once was--his mind was blank, he didn't know himself, and because of this detatchment, Draco was no longer pained.

This summer had been particularly bad; Narcissa had finally escaped from the Manor to a place where she could neither return nor be troubled again.

When Lucius had found the body of his dead wife, her slender form strewn over the bed and the charm of self-release upon her lips, he hadn't cried--at least, not immediately. He had exploded into a rage, bellowing for Draco to get himself down to the bedroom. As soon as Draco's eyes fell on the scene, he could feel the tears pricking at his eyelashes, but he refused to allow them to fall. They wouldn't, they would never. He was empty, he was not of this world...

The first blow came abruptly, to his temple knocking him down onto the carpeted floor. Lucius punched and kicked, a severe smile on his face as the tears began to stream down his cheeks, _"Your mother is dead, asshole. Now who am I going to fuck?"_ Draco was already broken, his lip bleeding, eye blueing and one of his ribs, yet again broken. _"Answer me!"_ Lucius screamed, his eyes glinting maniacal intent, _"Who am I going to fuck? You?"_ The beating had progressed, until Draco's clothes were in tatters around him; then Lucius stopped, _"Narcissa, you bitch, you cunt, you whore..."_ muttering obscenities, he had retired to a corner of the room. He rocked back and forth, _"You had to go and fucking kill yourself. Who am I going to fuck? Who am I going to fuck?"_ Draco lay in a crumpled heap, unable to move. Usually his father would have left by now, and one of the house elves would have arrived to heal his wounds and escort him to his room. His father continued his raving in the corner, until his eyes once again grew enraged.

_"This is your fault, you jackass! Your fault!"_ He rose, stepping towards Draco, his eyes glinting horrifically in the light. Draco was limp, helpless, and though no tears fell from his eyes, he was afraid. Lucius kneeled, his hands hooking about Draco's hips, Draco's pants coming down around his ankles before he could protest. _"No, no, father, no,"_ Draco, for once, began to plead--this was too much, too far. Lucius looked ravenous as he eyed his son's half-naked body. Cruel fingers descended in places they should never have gone, not now, not ever.

Draco lay there, through it all, helpless as his father fondled him, screaming at him curses and insults, humiliating him. His father did not do much more than this, as Draco had feared would happen; he just did what he would until he became bored and left. The house elves had helped him, healing him and soothing him; but nothing could ease his pride, his sense of defeat and degradation.

* * *

It hadn't happened again, the fondling, but the bruises left from his father's crude fingers were a nasty reminder. Draco received several more beatings throughout that summer, each seemingly worse than the last--he didn't try to stop them, just lay there and prayed so hard that the murmurs choked his throat.

Yet all through this torture, he'd had one friend, one aspect of his life that would never leave him, ever; never betray him, never hurt him like everything else had. His father had proved himself deranged, and his mother had deserted him for some otherworldly place; even his friends were store-bought and backstabbing, and Draco knew it. Everything about Draco, and about Draco's life seemed fake, and Draco watched it all as if through a veil from where he was isolated. He made no move to improve his condition; if anything he made it worse, refusing to eat or talk, just sipping water randomly and sitting out on the roof every day in wait of his friend...

His friend; his true haven, his one and only sanctuary: the sunset.

The peace of mind Draco got from the sunset was something he could never explain. It never took away the feeling of dirtiness that lingered with him after the fondling, that even a shower couldn't remove, and it never made anything in his life better or worse than it already was--but it made all of emotions, all of the inner torment, just a little bit easier to bear.

It was a childish memoir, something that had stayed with him for twelve years, since he'd discovered it at the age of four; but it was something that remained a source of consolement and almost-comfort to him. It was as if it were a reminder of better days, days when Draco still possessed the naive innocene of childhood and thought the good things and the bad things in life equal and distinguishable as red from blue.

Draco had almost forgotten that soon he would be returning to his true home...Hogwarts.

* * *

Ginny Weasley was a generally happy child. She had her fair share of tears and critisizm, smiles and praise; but this year, the latter was more in tuned with her song. She was going into her fifth year at Hogwarts, and had been awarded the option of taking sixth year subjects...if she grabbed at the chance, she could graduate a year earlier than the other fifth years--with her brother, Ron, and his friends. The thought was embraced by her family, especially Mrs. Weasley who had never hugged her daughter so long and so hard.

Ginny, of course, ever the ambition of the family, grabbed at the chance almost soon as it had emerged; she had never had any true friends among the fifth years; acquaintances, people she laughed with and the sort, but not any one she would miss. She was a bit of a social butterfly; she spoke to every one, but at the same time was the girl that you knew, but did not really _know_.

Mr. Weasley, balding and joyous at his daughter's achievement, dipped his head into his hands, letting a few stray tears gather before brushing them away and reading the letter from Hogwarts again, then repeating the process. The whole Weasley household was in an uproar; the only one bitter about Ginny's artful accomplishment her sour-faced brother Ron.

The kitchen table was the ideal place to confront such matters, especially on the morning before they were to head of the Diagon Alley to buy their goods, two days before they were expected at Kings Cross Station.

"Oh, Ronnie-poo," Ginny cooed, soppily, "Don't hold a grudge against your dear old sister..."

Harry snickered, and Ron nudged him hard in the rib. "I'm not holding a grudge," he muttered, very much grudgingly.

"That's lovely, dears," said Mrs. Weasley, absently, dishing more pancakes and toast into both Harry and Ginny's plates, "Eat up, we have to be at Diagon Alley early!"

They flooed to their destination, landing within the dusty hearth of the Leaky Cauldron and being greeted warmly by Tom, their grinningly toothless host. "Drinks, for ye?" he asked, kindly, and Mrs. Weasley explained that they were in a hurry, but perhaps...just perhaps...

After gratefully downing their butterbeers, the Weasleys, along with the added company of Harry and Hermione, began their shopping. Diagon Alley was crowded with witches and wizards, wearing clothes of all different colors, shapes and sizes; some were short and stocky with nasty warts growing proudly on their noses, others tall and lanky with wispy hair set on bald heads; then there were those who war ridiculously large purple hats, dotted with tiny purring cats, and others who wore laughingly massive green boots that were furry and barked if you got too close.

In all, Diagon Alley was as busy as a bee hive, bustling and buzzing about with people and sounds and creatures that Ginny's curious mind reveled at. Ginny was very observant; she enjoyed _watching_ things, just randomly absorbing interesting details and pouring mindlessly over them afterwards. She flowed along the channels of the street, being carried along by the surrounding Weasleys and their two guests, just as much as by people; I dare say a few creatures, too, that she didn't recognize.

The day was sunny and humid; Ginny's baggy T-shirt, once upon a time Charlie's, sticking uncomfortably to her back after just a few minutes, her hair becoming slightly matted near her forehead. "God, Mum!" she said, loudly to be heard over the hubbub, "It's darned hot today!"

Mrs. Weasley, who was dabbing her forehead with a handkerchief nodded in agreement, stopping abruptly and toppling several other people who had been behind her, "Okay, the boys can go on their way; Ginny, me, you and Hermione can stay together and do our shopping. I say, we'd better dip into Flourish and Blotts, first. Buy you all some new books. No, no, don't worry Ronald, we'll pick up your books, too. Yours, too, Harry. Now shoo!" She ushered the males of the company off, leaving her with the two females. She smiled tiredly, "This way, girls."

Flourish and Blotts was still slightly empty, judging from the hour, so they managed to pick all their books up in about a half hour; they emerged from the air-conditioned store, laden with packages and looking refreshed. They were just about to cross into another stream leading up towards Gringotts Bank when Ginny, ever keen, saw him.

Pushing defiantly against the flow of one 'lane' were the two Malfoy males; Lucius looking tall, powerful and ever menacing; beaded blue eyes flitting about nervously, as if looking for some one or something, or attempting to avoid some one or something...not that he would have been doing a very good job, seeing as how he had one long arm outstretched and was pushing any one in his way aside, to a chaotic result. His eyebrows were narrowed as if in concentration, and his whole demeanor seemed, to Ginny, to be very angry.

She shivered, but this was not what caught her; it was the boy--or young man, he was dragging along behind him. One white hand was clenched around the boy's upper arm, holding him tightly and roughly; not caringly in the way a father should. Draco Malfoy walked, his head bowed, his hair in his face and his cheeks gaunt. She was startled, for it looked nothing like the Malfoy she was used to at school. Her fleeting observation piqued a type of interest, and her eyes followed the Malfoys and then...Draco's eyes, an uexplainable color, from this distance, flitted up to meet hers before quickly moving back down, and in them she saw something that quite unsettled her.

She couldn't place what it was, and as the elder Malfoy dragged the younger along, they were soon out of her sight, and she realized that she had been, in her reverie, separated from her mother and Hermione. 'Great,' she thought, almost angry at Malfoy for distracting her, 'Now I'm _lost_.' Her mind was quickly removed from the memory of the two Malfoys, and she spent no more time on it.

Now, she just had to concentrate on finding her mother...

**Author's Note: Any good? Working on next chapter, rather diligently. Gave up on trying to make Pricinpal's List or win anything this year, seeing as how my math has been a notorious disaster (I got a C!) Oh well. Hope you enjoyed, REVIEW PURDY PLEASE!**


	3. Chapter 3

Sunsets

The morning that he was to leave for Kings Cross Station, Draco Malfoy peered into the mirror, eyeing himself distastefully. The bathroom, one of elegant white marble with delicate designs etched into the counters, was filled with steam, the glass having only a sliver of fog-lessness for Draco to look into. He had just had his shower and cleaned his teeth; he wouldn't bother with his hair, since for some reason, no matter what he did with it, he always looked, in some small way, like his father.

He watched himself in the mirror, the silvery arch of eyebrows over long-lashed eyes; eyes dead and empty, void of feeling or emotion--just observant eyes, eyes that looked and saw all. His hair was wet and mussed, falling onto his forehead in half-moon strands, framing his face and making him look paler and more lifeless than before. His nose, straight and aristocratic pointed back at him, suggesting a great form of authority; his lips thin, but shapely, a light pink color. Cheeks gaunt--a perfect indication of his chosen ignoring of food--sunk into his face, making him look deathly; as if he'd died weeks ago and only just been dug up.

His shoulders stood out straight, slanting down to muscular arms, toned from hours of Quidditch; his chest flat and abbs stiffened into slender, wirey muscle. Broad shouldered and narrow hipped, his ribs, yet another indication of his malnutrition, poked out disconcertingly, seeming out of place with the rest of his proportioned body. Though magic was potent, some scars never vanished; Draco ran his long, strong fingers across the raised bumps of marked skin, wondering over his imperfections, wondering why...

Draco looked in the mirror for minutes on end; to him, time was frozen and all that mattered was the person who glared back, eyes hard and stiff...

Draco saw his father in the mirror, and with one quick motion shattered the glass, falling backwards and clutching his bleeding knuckle.

He looked at the drops of crimson spilling onto the towel wrapped around his waist; how purity was so easily tainted, how dirty he must be...

* * *

Ginny almost tripped over her feet that morning, thundering eagerly down the stairs to the kitchen, where Mrs. Weasley was only beginning breakfast. She was in the midst of removing the curlers from her hair, the cucumber mask from her face and breaking four eggs over the pan, when Ginny stomped in. "Well, darling," Mrs. Weasley said, flicking her wand this way and that to get things under way after glancing back at her daughter, "Some one is up awfully early."

"I couldn't stand to sleep another moment," the girl confided, sitting contentedly at the table and looking out at her mother from beneath fluttering lashes, "I just can't wait for it, Mum; it's all so exciting..."

Mrs. Weasley, smiling fondly, took a seat next to her daughter, the two settling together as the eggs fried themselves and some bread toasted away, "It should be nice, dearie--for you, that is. For me, it's sometimes awfully lonely having no one in the house to talk to..." Ginny looked at her mother and frowned, opening her mouth to speak, but Mrs. Weasley spoke first, "I mean, what with Bill and Charlie off here and there, dropping in ocassionally; and by ocassionally maybe once at Christmas and on Mother's Day. Percy is always working and, oh! I just can't stand the thought of you all graduating, then moving out...getting married..."

Ginny laughed suddenly, and Mrs. Weasley stared over, bewildered, "But, Mum, you worry too much! I'll stay at the Burrow once I graduate--that is, until I get married. And then, you won't be lonely, either, because I'll have you plenty of wailing grandchildren in no time!"

The two shared a laugh, Mrs. Weasley glancing over at her daughter in glee, "But, Ginny, darling, have you found him yet?"

"Him?" Ginny inquired.

"Yes, him--the man of your dreams, the one who completes you, the soul mate, the husband..."

Ginny burst out laughed again. "Muuuuum!" she said, grinning, "I'm hardly off fifteen years old and you want me to be married already?"

"I didn't--"

"I'm joking, but Mum, I _am_ only fifteen years old! You can't fall in love at fifteen..."

Mrs. Weasley gave her daughter a look. "Me and your father met at Hogwarts; I met him in my first year in fact, and by my fourth was convinced I was in love with him! After so long being married to him, I'm sure I am, and was..."

Ginny smiled, "But that's you and dad, Mum; you all were the stuff of fairy tales. Soul mates, that what you two were. Things don't happen like that any more."

"Don't be so sure..." Mrs. Weasley said, before swiftly brushing off the conversation, arising from her chair and continuing her bustling morning routine. Ginny watched her mother move about the kitchen for a while longer, just sitting there and watching the plump woman prance about, smiling small smiles ocassionally at the littlest things. She was, very suddenly, overwhelmed with an immense saddness. She wasn't sure how old her parents were, but her father's balding head and her mother grey streak and wrinkles were beginning to become tell-tale.

"Good morning Gin, Mrs. Weasley!" Hermione's voice echoed from the hallway, her bushy untamed hair poking into the kitchen entrance, "Every one had a good sleep?"

And so Ginny's morning began, busy, busy, busy, but with it's serenely peaceful moments, those times when you felt sad, and those times when you were happy...

* * *

Draco sat in the cabin, looking out the window at his schoolmates who gathered on the platform. Many were from his year, yet his view was not restricted to them only. There were the Gryffindors, brave and confident, hugging their families away; the Ravenclaws, kissing their parents on the cheek, pertly saying goodbye and being off; the Hufflepuffs, shedding too many tears and sharing too many embraces; and the Slytherins, formally shaking their parents' hands, before marching proudly to the train.

So many differences, and Draco saw them all, though his mind lingered elsewhere, the throbbing pain in his hand hardly being acknowledged. The gash he had received from the shards of broken mirror bled steadily, slowly soaking through the makeshift bandage he had created. He hadn't bothered to request the house elves' help. He didn't need their help, or any one's. The only point was, he was going back to Hogwarts, somewhere his father couldn't ever reach him.

There was a creak at the cabin door and Draco snapped around, looking at his previously unseen guest. He snarled, his eyes first registered red hair and many, many freckles. Then, his eyes saw the rest: it was the girl Weasley, the same one who'd seen him at Diagon Alley; the same one whose hair was not actually red, but a blend of copper and russet, tangled together in a unique blend. The freckles were speckled noticeably over a little nose, her skin milky and porcelain otherwise; and her eyes looking at him curiously.

"Malfoy, what happened to your hand?"

He caught himself, narrowing his eyes at her in hatred. "None of your fucking business." He noticed, with restrained amusement, that there was lipstick on her cheek. Her mother's, most probably. His snappy retort didn't seem to bother her, and that, for some reason, bothered him. "Get out." He stated this calmly, expecting her to obey, before turning his head back towards the window.

To his outrage, she sat herself comfortably down opposite him, eyes looking intently at his soaked-through bandage. "You're an idiot to not change that bandage--or to at least heal the wound. I mean, that's what we have magic for, after all."

He fumed, his heart wrestling out the first embers of a fiery passion within him; he wanted to slap her across the face for her insolence. "Weasley, get the fuck out." He didn't look at her; he was afraid that if he did, he would lose himself in something he did not know.

"Not until you tell me what happened to your hand."

He clenched his fists together, finger nails biting into the tough skin. His teeth gritted, and he found his emotion control leave him. Turning to her, he opened his mouth, looking her straight in the eyes, eyebrows furrowed in anger...Nothing came out as he expected it would. He had wanted to tell her off for her bloody Mud-blood loving insolence; how she was a disgrace to Purebloods everywhere; how she and the rest of her world were dirty and wrong and horrible, and how much he wanted her to _die_. Instead, his eyes met hers, and a flurry of emotions rushed into him, though none of them were anger. He simply lowered his eyes and said, "Get out."

"No." Her answer was just as surprising to him as his previous retort had been. Slowly, she brought out her wand, and Draco fell his insides churning with sudden apprehension. Would she jinx him, wandless and bleeding? Instead, to his fascination, she pried his wounded hand away from his body, peeling his fingers out from a fist and bringing her wand to his knuckles. She muttered a few words, that Draco recognized vaguely as those healing spells he was so horrid at, and the pain in his hand was suddenly gone. She let go, and he stared down at the hand; beneath the bandages he could feel the skin weaving itself together, sealing back up.

He looked back up at her, eyes flitting to her face, then away again. He felt that anger whell up, a fury that almost controlled him; a strength of emotion that he had not allowed himself to feel since his father had begun beating him. He wanted to hit her, beat her, strangle her to death...And yet, the moment he looked at her, ready to utter obscenities and begin his torment, he found himself speechless and calm. He frowned, looking away and slowly simmering to himself. 'Bitch,' he thought, 'How dare she touch me with her filthy hands?'

"Not even a thank you, Malfoy?" she asked, her voice still as chirpy and annoying, he thought, as ever.

"No."

She sighed. "I'll just be on my way, then," she said, unperturbed by his hostility, "Don't feel much like sitting with a Malfoy, anyways."

She was half out the door, when Draco found the strength to speak coherently, "You have lipstick on your cheek."

He felt her pause. "You're welcome," she said quietly, and then she was gone.

Draco was overwhelmed by a sudden feeling of loneliness, that the cabin was now empty without her presence. The anger that had previously grown in him now dulled to a faint throb, and he found himself regaining control of his emotions. 'What the _hell_ was that?' he asked himself, frustrated, 'What the hell is _happening _here?' He thought for a disturbing second that maybe the Weasley wanted to be friends or something, but quickly dismissed the thought.

No one wanted to be friends with some one like him.

Slowly, experimentally, he unwrapped the bandage from around his knuckle.

The skin was smooth; not even a scar left to say that she had been there.

* * *

Ginny settled herself between Lavender and Parvati, her best friend Helen seated closest to the window next to Hermione. They chattered on about their summers, talking about clothing, tans and, more abundantly, boys--but Ginny wasn't particularly listening. She thought back to Malfoy, the way he had looked sickly and most disturbing, the way he hadn't even seemed to acknowledge the fact that on his knuckle was a particularly nasty gash. He seemed strange, this year; not the Malfoy she knew or remembered--some one completely different.

She thought of the dashingly handsome young boy who terrorized her family continuously, but never seemed to notice her. She didn't take particular notice of him, either; she had much better things to do than think of Malfoys. But last year, he had seemed so much healthier, and boisterous. This year, just now, he may have been rude, but definitely not his boldly mischevious self. She thought back to the last time she'd seen him...being dragged along by his father...

She didn't know why, but she felt a queer kind of compassion towards him; he was a mysterious subject, but she found herself intrigued. Intrigued, but not in any mood to follow up her interest...

"So Gin; you meet any nice looking boys this summer?" And that was all Ginny thought of Draco Malfoy the whole train ride to Hogwarts, though ocassionally she found her mind flitting randomly across him and the memory of his warm hand in hers, the hurt she had taken into her body on his behalf when she had healed his cut, and though that hurt had still deteriorated, the tingles of something strange she felt in the pit of her stomach, something she was more than sure had come from that exchange.

**Author's Note: Well this is finished. I also finished Chapter 4 a few days after this, but I won't put it up until next week. And then there may be a delay on that, too, since I'm going to Quebec...anywho I'm trying to update this once a week...Yeah, hope you liked it, review:-)**


	4. Chapter 4

Sunsets

The first day of school commenced with great havoc; nothing seemed to be going right for Draco. First, Pansy pinched his leg all throughout Transfiguration class, reawakening in Draco horrid memories of his father's hands...During Charms, Draco's mind had, distractedly, wandered off into his isolated shell, and the spell he was trying to perform went horribly wrong: needless to say, Professor Flitwick assured him that the donkey ears would vanish by the time Herbology was over. Still, he had to bear the ridicule of his fellow students, who snickered, to his displeasure, and pointed rather blatantly at his embarassing apendages. Naturally, being in the bitter mood he was, he hexed one boy before the rest quieted down--but still he fancied he could hear their merciless sniggers follow him through lunch, though he masterfully avoided having to eat anything; a few sips of water would suffice.

All the while, Draco's mind seemed to be in some other place; deep within him was a turmoil of feelings, and for some reason there was a big black hole of loneliness pitting itself in his stomach. Ever since his encounter with Ginny Weasley the day before, he'd found himself strangely haunted by a feeling of absence. Not that he wanted her around, so to say, just that he had felt, with her in those brief, agonizing moments, strangely _full_.

'What _are_ you thinking, Draco?' he would snarl to himself, unwilling to let himself go astray, 'She's a filthy Mudblood loving ingrate...' But at the same time, a smaller, more suppressed part of him would think, 'Draco, she wouldn't have time for you anyways.'

And he knew she wouldn't. He knew the type of reputation she had about her; a bit of a flirt, really, but generally cheerful and frustratingly aloof. He'd seen her once or twice in the past few years; never really paid her much attention--but he knew how she walked about with her hair flying back and a glorious smile on her face, saying hello to every person she saw on the way to whatever class she was bound to.

She wouldn't have time for him, and he decided he would make no time for her either.

The last class of the day was with the Gryffindors; Potions, naturally, since the teachers seemed to have a nasty obsession with placing the two feuding houses together in the most nasty of classes. Draco was glad for this class; despite his feeling of academics holding a particular unimportance to him on this day, Potions had always been his favorite and best of subjects. He would breeze through it, and the hour would pass quickly so that he could retire to the library and engulf himself in the throes of some book, or, as he suspected would happen, prop himself up behind a mighty stack of volumes and doze off.

As he stepped into the room, he was immediately reminded of his home; cold and unwelcoming, not a place you'd say was homely or comfortable. It was like a stone, unmoving, unfeeling and completely unable to reflect any of its inhabitant's feelings. Even after his mother's death, the house had still maintained its aura of airy stiffness, a feeling Draco hoped would have dissolved since his father no longer had some one to argue with.

His father...Lucius...Draco shivered in discomfort as he took his seat on the splintery wooden bench in front of his designated cauldron. A faint memory of stinging and pain emerged in his mind, but he pushed it back, determined to, again, become emotionless. He wouldn't think, he wouldn't think about Lucius or anything to do with his 'home', the Malfoy Manor. Draco squeezed his eyes shut, clenching the table with white-knuckles...Behind his eyes memories flashed past, and Draco could do nothing to stop them..nothing...nothing...

* * *

By the time Ginny reached the Potions room, all the seats had been filled up. She was on time, but still late enough to not have gotten a sensible place to sit. All heads turned around to look at the new comer, and there were some murmurings of curiousity as to a fifth year's presence in a sixth year's class...No body questioned her aloud, however, and within the minute they were once again distracted and paying attention to everything but her. 

Ginny felt a bit out of place, but nevertheless began to look for a sitting acomodation. There was one left, near the shadowy corner of the room, and the other person sitting at the table was none other than Draco Malfoy. She approached the chair and expected him to express displeasure at her wanting to sit with him--not that she wanted to, of course, she really had no choice--but found him, to her surprise, with his eyes shut tight. Ginny frowned, looking around the classroom to see if any one else might have noticed, but no one had. Hesitantly, she took her seat, dropping her bag beneath the table and edging farthest away from the concentrated Malfoy as she could.

With concerned eyes, she watched him in wonderment, pondering what was wrong; why his hands began to shake where they held the table as if for dear life, why beneath his eyelids she could see his pupils rolling around in a panic. Her frown deepened and she looked closer, her concern only increasing, unsettlement increasing with it. Suddenly, with abrupt violence, his body began to shake, and Ginny's eyes widened. His mouth dropped open and he mouthed the words _no, please, no_ over and over again.

The tremors became worse. The bench shook with its violence and the mouthed words became whispers. Ginny's eyes widened in horror, because on his face she could see his pain, she could see his terror...Almost unconsciously, impulsively, she raised her hand...

* * *

Draco wanted to scream, to shout, yet still he tried his hardest to contain his anguish...Slowly, the memories became worse...his mind flitted to what was possibly the worst of them all...His father was touching him...touching him, and all Draco could see was the grey of the ceiling and, if he looked to his right, a few blonde locks of his dead mother's hair...He couldn't move, he was trapped...Every attempted movement sent horrific pains ricocheting through his beaten body...but surely any movement was better than this...

Suddenly, there was a warmth, a touch carressing and desperate at the same time. A small hand grasped his, knocking him abruptly from his nightmarish reverie...His father's malicious eyes disappeared and instead a barrage of tingles waivered throughout his body; tingles comforting and completing...

Draco gasped, his eyes opening, his body's tremors coming to an abrupt end. The first thing he saw was a small hand clasped over his, and instinctively, before he even had it registered, he clasped back, lacing his needy fingers in between the other person's. He frowned in relief, then suddenly followed the hand up to its owner...

His eyes met hers, and the relief faded. Ginny Weasley had saved him; that stupidly beautiful red-headed Weasley, with her speckled blue eyes gazing worriedly back at him. He snatched his hand back and that feeling of completion remained with him, though he couldn't fathom why.

She stared at him, confused, pulling her hand back to her side of the desk, but all he could do was stare down at the bench, just as confused as she was.

"Malfoy?" she asked softly; not that it would have made a difference--the rest of the class were chattering about as if they had never had the chance to speak before, "Are...are you alright?" He didn't answer, just continued staring at the desk, eventually hitching his hands up to glare at his nails as if they, in themselves, were the cause of all his problems. "I'm serious," she said, and he heard a tone of something different in her voice, something that really wanted to _know_. "Are you alright?" she repeated.

Could he trust her? Could he tell her about all of his experiences, all of the horrific things he had seen in the past sixteen years of his life? Some small part of him, a part that he hardly listened to, told him he could, but...

'Of course not,' he thought, 'I don't even know her. _And_ she's a Weasley. A filthy, bloodsucking tick of a Weasley.' He looked up for a moment, catching her gaze, before his eyes yet again fell. "None of your business," he told her stiffly, again looking up, then quickly back down. For some reason, every time he looked at her something strange happened within him; he didn't know what. It was as if at the same time he lost control and was _in_ control; it was as if every time he looked at her, a different part of him opened up...the part that could smile and be happy, cry and be sad; the part that could _feel_.

And then, when he was with her, there was the feeling of completion; the same one that still lingered in his stomach presently. He glanced over at her, to find her still peering back, then went back to studying his nails. There was something about her that suited him just right, that rubbed him in both the wrong and _right_ way...something he swore he would, could and should ignore.

"If you say so," she said, uncertainly, but he could still detect a trace of puzzlement and concern; the revelation sending a steady jolt through him--she cared.

Then, sudden as always, Snape made his appearance, and Draco, though all through class was distinctly aware of her being; moving, shifting, living beside him, had no other time to ponder his queer emotions.

* * *

Ginny had escaped from Potions as soon as possible. She couldn't work sitting next to Malfoy! He was so strange, with his queer bouts of trembling, and his unwillingness to tell her _what_ was wrong. She sighed in frustration, yet in her stomach, still worry knawed at her. During class, she had constantly been stealing glances at him, though she was sure he hadn't looked at her once. She had watched his expressionless face study the notes, then his hands expertly handle the ingredients, as if it were a second nature.

How she had longed to grasp his hand within hers, yet again, feeling those long fingers lace through her own and _know_ that he would be fine...just as long as she touched him, was with him...

"Ginnnnnnnnnnn!"

Her named echoed throughout the hallway, the prolonged ending letter immediately informing her of who exactly was at her back. "Helen," she said, smilingly, welcoming her brunette-haired friend to her side.

Helen snaked her arm through Ginny's. "What's up, lady?" she inquired as the two walked up to the Dormitory, hands linked. Helen Baxter was a sixth year Gryffindor girl, constantly laughing or crying, her face always awash with emotion. Maybe this, Ginny had always thought, was what attracted her to the girl. She was so predictable, so easy to read, that Ginny found herself perfectly at ease with Helen, as if she had just grown an extra arm or something.

"Nothing," Ginny answered, "At least, not really. I've been noticing things lately."

"Like what?" Helen asked again, ever the one with the questions.

"Just...things," Ginny's reluctance to fill her long-time friend in on her worry, somehow concreted something within her, "How was your day?"

"Not bad," Helen replied, her eyes shining, "Was observing the men, you know...Do you know that boy in Ravenclaw? The one with the brown hair?"

Ginny laughed, "There are lots of boys with brown hair in Ravenclaw."

"Well..."

And so the two walked up to their Dormitories, dropped their things in their respective rooms, and once again began their arm-linked and question-bathed walk down to the Great Hall for Dinner.

* * *

Ginny wasn't at all concerned about Malfoy, she told herself--nor was she getting protective of him, either. Just because she wouldn't tell Helen her little encounters with the younger Malfoy (whether they were by coincidence or unconscious deliberance), didn't mean anything. Sure, he was handsome and smart, and a royal mystery--but he was so not Ginny's type. 

That's what she told herself, all the while she looked frantically, with suppressed hurry, about the Great Hall for her puzzling subject, her mouth half filled with shepard's pie. 'Oh god,' she thought, 'Where is he?' She had been in the Great Hall, feeding her mighty appetite diligently for the past forty-five minutes, while also diligently looking out for Malfoy. For some reason, she thought it her responsibility of sorts to make sure he was okay, especially after today's outburst. She had been hoping he would come to dinner, but there was only fifteen minutes left and still there was no trace of him to be seen.

Frowning, she quickly cut another slice of the succulent shepard's pie, and wrapped it delicately in a napkin. In the back of her mind, she told herself it was for later on tonight, just in case she got hungry; but deep down, she knew that once she left that table, which she did, she was going looking for Malfoy. She had noticed how skinny he had seemed as of late, his cheeks sunken into his face and his eyes hollowed. His pants were now so big that they slid off his hips, and through his robes she could see the outline of his skeletal frame. She didn't know what was wrong, and since he refused to tell her, convinced herself she didn't care; but if she did find him, she would force this shepard's pie down his throat if it was the last thing she did.

'And it probably will be,' she thought to herself as she wandered down the hallway, sauntering past the library, then abruptly turning back. Quickly, she hid the pie in her back pack, knowing Madame Pince would allow no food in the library, but knowing that she _would_ have allowed a studious Malfoy, intent on skipping dinner. She walked in, praying the delicious smell would not give her away, raised her hand in greeting to the wary book-keeper and then walked towards the back.

She figured, if she was going to search for Malfoy, she might as well do it properly. She remembered seeing him in the Potions section of the library in previous years, dutifully pouring over dusty volumes in search of some potion or the other. Slowly, she made her way there, and, triumphantly, found him dozing upon the pages of an opened tome. She smiled softly, never having seen him look so peaceful, and at the same time unwilling to awaken him from his slumber.

She approached him quietly, leaning down to watch him closer; the way his forehead was graced by his messy hair, the way his eyelashes kissed his cheeks and his mouth was upturned in a half-smile, half-grimace. She had never seen any one look so utterly beautiful when asleep; not only that, he looked angelic. She thought faintly of running her finger along his jaw, just to feel the skin that looked so smooth, but was abruptly jarred out of her mesmerization by his sudden awakening.

* * *

Draco had been a light sleeper ever since his father had begun stalking into his room to pull him out of bed for a beating; Ginny's warm breath on his face had alerted him immediately of some one's presence. As his eyes snapped open and poured into hers, he jolted back, almost overturning his chair.

"Weasley!" he snarled, venemously, apparently less than pleased that she had been watching him sleep. Still, he felt a blush dare to creep into his cheeks, and he found himself flustered.

"Sorry!" she said, calmly, a tiny smile on her lips.

There was a silence, where Draco fidgeted with his hands, watching them intently, and where Ginny quietly rummaged through her bag.

"Why weren't you at dinner?"

Draco's mind reeled over into defense mode. "None of your business; but if it matters so much to you, I wasn't hungry."

She rolled her eyes. "Looks to me like you haven't been hungry for a while now."

Draco almost choked on his breath: she'd been watching him? "No, I haven't."

An alluring smell suddenly reached his nostrils, and Ginny set some very delicious looking food on the table. "Here," she said simply, and Draco gaped at the half-mashed slice of shepard's pie in front of him; an endearing mixture of peas, mashed potatoes and carrots topped with glisteningly juicy minced beef. His mouth watered for it, and he realized how long it had been since he'd eaten anything sustaining. "Eat," she ordered.

Draco looked to her, his eyes wide, like that of a child's. Then, he concreted. "No." He found the shreds of his pride rising up in his throat, he would _not_ take orders from _anyone!_ Even if that person was the recklessly beautiful Ginny Weasley, who seemed at this moment both extraordinarily naive and extraordinarily thoughtful for bringing him this yummy present.

Ginny promptly sat, and Draco felt his patience leaving him. "Eat it, or I will feed you."

_Eat it, or I will feed you..._The words resounded through Draco's head, echoing, and he was dragged back, back in time, to when he was young still; stubborn and over-filled with dignity. He remembered his mother, his beautiful lovely mother, holding the silver spoon in her hand, teasing him...He watched as Ginny gathered some of the scrumptuous meal in her hand, leaning towards him threateningly..._Eat it, Draco, or I will feed you_...The food touched his lips, his mother's silver spoon cold against his shut tight mouth, Ginny's hand a splash of warmth...

He was overcome with anger, a fear so inaudible he could not even comprehend it until Ginny Weasley and his mother said the exact same words and it all came pouring out in a torrent of volatility. "Eat, Draco; please?"

He jumped back suddenly, slamming his fists against the table and bellowing loudly, "Goddamnit Weasley; you're not my fucking mother, so lay off!"

There was a silence where neither could hear anything but the beats of their hearts, a rhythmic drumming in their ears. Draco looked to the ceiling, trying to gather his wits, then back down to Ginny. When he saw the tears in her eyes, his heart gave a cold pang. "Sorry," she murmured, before grabbing her bag and running away, away from Draco, away from the library, tears breaking out over her face. "Sorry..."

**Author's Note: Uh oh, Draco, what have you done now? Working on next chapter, dutifully; pwweeeeez review every one!**


	5. Chapter 5

Sunsets

Draco stood for moments on end, dumbstruck in the library, gaping after the place where she'd sat. She was gone now, and with her seemed to have left every ounce of tranquility--the library now seemed to taunt him, laughing and pointing at his shame, his humiliation. Every bad thing he'd ever done came back at him full force, in fact, he embraced them eagerly, trying _trying_ to find some guilt greater than the one that now knawed his stomach, stronger than even the hunger previously present. He found his heart racing, hard, harder than it had ever beat, the blood rushing to his face, pounding at his head, his eyes...

A headache like no other bombarded him, as Draco sat, defeated into his righted chair, still staring at the place where she had been. He took deep breaths, as if trying to catch her strawberry scent in the air, some indication that she _was_ still there, except laughing and giggling behind the bookcases in her vulnerable way. His eyes wouldn't move, and no matter what inner turmoils he purposely wrought on himself, all he could be aware of was the horrifying pain that ate at his heart; chewing it and making it bleed and ache.

Ginny Weasley had just made her sobbing exit, and Draco Malfoy was now brooding over his cruel words, for once feeling the force of his own actions.

He didn't know why there was guilt; he didn't like her, they weren't friends. She really had no right to come charging in here, disturbing him in the hopes that he would eat out of her disgusting hand; then again, she'd had no reason, no obligation...she'd done it off her own free will, off of the goodness in her heart...And Draco realized, he'd had no reason to refuse her good deed, to shoot her down in the vile manner in which he had. Slowly, he put his elbows on the table, carressing his head in his palms and willing the feeling away.

After all, he was _Draco Malfoy_. He was emotionless; if he could withstand his father's tortures, why couldn't he withstand small hurts inflicted on Ginny Weasley--by himself, nonetheless?

'She is _unimportant_,' he gritted, digging his nails into his scalp, '_Unimportant_.' Tears of anger, anger at himself and anger at her, trickled silently down his cheeks, and the worse part was...

He didn't know why.

All that he was capable of processing, of aptly understanding, was the look of absolute hurt in Ginny Weasley's eyes, the way the usually bright and blue color had dimmed drastically at his statement...the way the tears had pricked at her eyelashes, and she'd turned away quickly so he wouldn't see...the way that, in mid-run, she'd uttered small sorries in her broken voice, each that had cut him so badly, piercing his conscience with silver bullets.

His weeping eyes caught the sight of the still-present shepard's pie, and he grated his teeth. He reached a hand out, finding it cold, but nevertheless scooping up a handful.

Sadly, he ate, all the while thinking of the deed he had just committed, and whether or not he should aspire to right it.

* * *

Ginny was in her Dormitory before even she knew it. She flung herself onto the bed and sobbed for a long, long time in her pillow, soaking the pillow case with her tears.

When she was finished, she flipped over, eyes puffy, red and sore, drawing in the curtains to her bed and glaring contemplatively at the ceiling.

'I over-reacted,' she decided, suddenly, 'I hardly even know him--and what I _do_ know of him isn't all that great. I shouldn't have even brought him any of that damn pie. It was good pie, too.' She closed her eyes, splaying her fingers out over her stomach. Her hurt feelings still bristled uncomfortably, and in her ears echoed his cold, angry words; but she knew she would have to get over it eventually. 'I don't even know what I hoped for,' she said, with a small sad smile, 'Helping a Malfoy...what was I thinking? That's, I think, three times I've helped him now...' Her mind flitted back to the Hogwarts Express, holding his hand in hers and healing him...the way his pain had floated into her body, making her cringe as the magic evaluated how deep the cut was, how much of her energy she'd have to use...The way he'd looked at her incredulously, still, though, refusing to meet her eyes for more than a few brief seconds.

She remembered back to Potions class, the way he had shook in some unseen terror, some living nightmare, and the way she'd grasped his hand and he'd clutched back. She remembered reveling in the warmth of his hand, the special tingles that had arose from this small touch...She remembered the way he had gazed at her, confused, then stony; the way he had refused to tell her what was _wrong_...

"AHCK!" she said out loud, rolling over. She had no clue why this bothered her so much. The thing was: she _wanted_ to know what was wrong...in fact, she _needed_ to know. Every second she saw him, looking like a ghost, a mere wraith of what he once was...it killed some part of her; the part of her that longed for him to go back to normal, even if normal meant those burning insults and cursed jeers.

Slowly, her mind drifted to her latest encounter with Malfoy. Finding him asleep, looking so damn _peaceful_. What she'd do to...to wake up to that face every...'No!' she suddenly vowed, 'What am I thinking? Am I...Do I...?'

"Gin?"

A brunette head peeped around the crimson curtains of Ginny's four poster bed, Helen's ochre eyes looking concerned. "You looked like you just cried up a storm, sweetie!"

Ginny laughed, unsurely, "I just did."

"Oh dear," Helen replied, drawing the curtains slightly apart so that she could sit herself down on the bed, next to Ginny, "Why?"

Ginny sat up, smoothing out her hair, her mind struggling to find a sensible excuse. "Malfoy--"

"Oh, that no good bastard!" Helen suddenly swore, "Wait till I get my hands on him--"

Helen was about to march defiantly out the door, when Ginny interrupted her exit. "No, Helen; please don't. It's okay. I'm on PMS, so I took a pathetic word a bit too much to heart. It's fine."

Helen visibly softened, "If you say so, lady. Still, I'd like to have a few words with the no good..."

And so Ginny's evening progressed, with Helen jaunting on about just about any one who seemed to pop into her mind, all the while Ginny brooding sadly on her bruised feelings, trying to suppress any feeling having to do with Mr. Draco Malfoy.

* * *

Ginny cursed her luck the moment she stepped in to the next Potions class, willing it all to just be a bad, bad dream. She had successfully managed to avoid Malfoy for the past few days, only passing him by ocassionally in the hallways, though somehow grateful to the fact that he now attended dinner. He ate sparsely, but at least he ate at all, and the way he sometimes looked up at her regretfully sated both her pride and her sense of worry. He was eating, and he obviously remembered quite vividly his crude dismissal of her.

But this, this she was not sure she could handle. Anger, fear and hurt welled up in her as she stepped into the class, once again on time, but too late to get a proper seat...a seat _away_ from the room's most concrete inhabitant: Draco Malfoy. Hesitantly, with her sourest face on, she approached the seat, and he looked up, his eyes suddenly dimming--if that was at all possible at this point. She settled next to him, placing her bag under the table, and he shuffled away until he was as far away from her as possible.

She sat on the very edge of the bench, willing him to disappear, or willing herself to melt into the rough wood--neither happened. Instead, she sat there, studying the grooves of the table, eyes traveling up to her pewter cauldron, then across to her seating partner. He didn't look as gaunt as before, though he looked like he hadn't slept in a while--his fair hair fell recklessly into his face and his uniform was rather disheveled. Ginny dropped her gaze to his hands; they were big and strong, smooth but with the slightest of calluses, doubtlessly from gripping broomsticks--and still, still she fought the horrific urge to reach out and hold them, to bring some of the warmth they undoubtedly held into her own palms, and lose herself in sensation.

Her eyes narrowed, and she looked up as Snape walked into the room. "Today," he started, his cold voice echoing off the walls, "we shall begin on a very complex potion called Cattivo Ricodare. Can any one tell me who discovered this potion, and what it is used for?"

Hermione's eager hand shot up, and Snape did a good job of ignoring her. Slowly, Ginny rose her hand, shaking with nervousness. Snape looked to her, and nodded his head in assent. "Cattivo Ricodare was discovered by a Warlock named James Ricodare in the 1650s. It doesn't have any _practical_ use, but is used to discover a person's worse memory, or a situation that has scarred them considerably."

"But, Miss Weasley, it _does_ have a practical use. The Dark Lord was known for his tyrant misuse of the Potion, often torturing his captives into submission with its continued use. The variation of the Potion that we will be working on for the rest of the week, however, does not recquire the person in question to drink it; rather to simply place a hair, a nail, even a flake of skin, into the cauldron and say 'Cattivius Ricodara'. This will cause the surface of the Potion to turn blue, and, if the Potion is done correctly, show that person's worse nightmare. When this nightmare has become to...shall we say, pressing, the person need only counteract it with the same words he or she said to begin it." Snape brushed a lock of oily, black hair out of his face, his pale hand skeletal and ominous in the shadows. "Now, class, copy the ingredients off the board and begin. By the end of this week I expect to have a vial full of each of your worse nightmares." He presently stalked out of the room, leaving them to their work.

Ginny copied quickly, eager to reach the Ingredients cabinet before Malfoy so that she could have a mere moment to gather her wits. Just being _around_ him seemed to make her blood hot with emotion, and she was finding it rather hard to contain. Once she gathered her ingredients, she walked--rather slowly--back to the desk, and began chopping up Hornbeak liver with gentle deliberation. Malfoy was now at the cabinet, and she watched him out of the corner of her eye; eyeing his erect, black-clad back with a certain anticipated apprehension.

When he returned, she thrust herself into her work, careful to avoid glancing at him, or even brushing his hand. Still, she could not deny, in the very deepest pit of her stomach, she could _feel_ his presence, moving purposefully next to her. She knew that, like herself, he was working to dodge any unecessary contact. She could almost feel the guilt and sure nervousness radiate off of him; in fact, the air was thick with their combined auras, tense in rememberance.

* * *

Draco didn't know how long he could hold up. For some reason, it was taking all of his self-control to not fall to his knees before her and beg for forgiveness. Just the fact that she could go on like nothing had happened seemed to peeve him, making him want, all the more, to get her to notice him once again. He almost missed her concern; the way she had previously openly cared and was constantly angry at himself for having averted it.

So imbursed was he in his own angry thoughts, that he almost didn't realize it when the blade he was using to cut up Klavicus root sliced into his finger. "Shit," he swore quietly, just loud enough for her to hear him. Blood trickled down his finger from where the wound was, pain mounting to a steady sting. "What is bloody wrong with me!" he groaned in exasperation.

For the first time that class, Ginny looked over to him, and promptly stopped what she was doing. A small gasp emanated from her lips, making him look over to her. Their eyes met for a moment, silver pouring into blue, and Draco could feel himself melt in guilt. Sparks flew up his spine, making all his hairs stand on end, and his heart pounded loudly in his chest. She looked away, down to his finger, shaking her head almost tiredly. "What _is_ wrong with you Malfoy?" she questioned, her voice a bit bitter. The tone stung him; it had never occured to him that she would be angry; just hurt. "Do you need a nanny to look over you or something? God! How can you possibly _always_ hurt yourself, and why am I _always_ the only one around to see it?"

By now, however, Ginny's outburst, though it had been quiet and only directed at him, had been noticed. Students in close vicinity were peering questioningly at the two, some alarmed at Draco's bleeding finger, others amused by Ginny's anger. As if it were her duty, Ginny drew her wand, and Draco, remembering the episode on the Hogwarts Express, pushed his hand obediently towards her. She watched him a bit warily after this gesture. "I hope you're not getting used to this, Malfoy," she told him, before muttering quietly her healing spell.

"I'm not," he murmured to her, once the finger was healed and the onlookers had gone back to work, "Though I think I'd like to have you around more, just in case."

Draco bit the inside of his cheek when he saw her look, instantly knowing that had been the wrong thing to say. "Piss off, Malfoy," Ginny snarled, "I'm not your mother, after all."

Draco watched, his mouth hanging open, as Weasley gathered her things. She stuffed her books into her bag, along with her quille and sealed ink pot, then hastily walked out of the class. He sat there for a moment, in the dark of the dungeon, amidst his year mates gathering their things and bustling out. It was a while before he realized that class was over. Slowly, as if every movement pained him, he gathered his things, tucking them into his back pack, all the while trying to figure out why he'd said what he had, and why _on earth_ Weasley's retort hurt him so _damn_ much.

* * *

Ginny decided that for tonight, dinner was irrelevant. She ducked quietly into a darkened corner, dropping her bag on the floor and resting her forehead against the cold stone. The tears fell, slow but steady, down her cheeks, each one marking another question. "What's wrong with me?" "Why did I say that?" "Why did _he_ say that?" "Why am I even crying?" Everything, very suddenly, felt strange. It was as if she no longer knew herself; all she knew was Malfoy and Malfoy and more Malfoy.

'Now he knows how it feels,' she decided, but still the tears rolled down her cheeks. She held back a sob. It was all wrong. Why was she acting like this? Why was she so worried about stupid Malfoy? And why was he having this sort of effect on her? 'This has never happened before,' Ginny thought, 'I've never felt the urge to...to protect...to _know_ anything about Malfoy. Why am I suddenly so wrapped up in him?'

She thought back to the years previous, the way she would hide around every corner, listening with growing anger as Malfoy insulted her brother; the way she would boo him as loud as she could as he raced towards the Snitch, Harry hot on his tail. The way she would grasp at any chance to catch his eye, or to simply watch him walk arrogantly down a corridor. It wasn't abnormal. Ginny knew that every girl in her year had, at one point or another, obsessed over the Slytherin Prince. He was too devishly good-looking for any sane, straight female to bypass, without, at least, the slightest of tingles.

But this year...this year he seemed to be illiciting more than tingles from her. This year he had her worrying over him; this year he had her longing to hear his voice, to touch him, to...to..."Oh, gosh!" Ginny swore, wiping away her tears, "I _have_ to stop this!"

* * *

Draco didn't see Ginny at dinner that evening, and for some reason it rose within him the embers of worry. 'Did I upset her that much?' he brooded, concernedly, as he laborously chewed on a piece of succulent chicken, 'Maybe...maybe...' He was stuck; it seemed no matter how much he chided himself, he could not, _would_ not stop glancing over at the Gryffindor table, in dim hopes that she had just arrived. His stomach twisted and twirled, guilt lacing itself in between his fingers and seeping into every crevice. By the time dinner was over, Draco was practically drowned in it, and it was most definitely the worse feeling he had ever experienced.

'I'm going to go find her,' he decided, and remembering how she had brought him food in the library that day, he wrapped a piece of that delicious chicken in a napkin and waited for the platters to disappear.

Before they did, Dumbledore made one of his abrupt appearances. His blue eyes twinkled, as was normal, his white beard seemingly even more flowing than usual. He gave his pupils a shining grin before beginning. "I hope you are all having a wonderful year so far; to tell you all the truth, I am! Just making sure you all are aware of the fact that this Saturday is the very first Hogsmeade trip of the year, for third years and over. You all are expected to leave the school at eight o'clock, if you want to leave at all, and to return by seven that evening. Thank you for your attention, you all may now return to your Dormitories."

Draco was hardly listening as Dumbledore said his typical goodbye, something consisting of lemondrops, humblebugs and frog apples. He was already out the door by the time Dumbledore had settled himself into the Head chair, gratefully accepting the cheese puffs offered by Flitwick; and by the time Dumbledore had glanced back the the doors to the Great Hall to see why they had been closed so suddenly, Draco was already on his way to the library.

**Author's Note: Oh, how tragic, Draco feels broodingly guilty, Ginny feels regretfully sad...what next? Reviews purdy please :-)**


	6. Chapter 6

Sunsets

Draco went to the first place he suspected she would be; the library. Since that was _his_ place of sanctuary, with its silent mysteries and warmly carressing disinterest as to why you were there in the first place--apart from the obvious, studying--it seemed the ideal place for any distraught student to retire to, where you could hide among the dusty volumes and not be found for hours on end. Draco knew from personal experience that it had always helped him recover his nerves; not necessarily making him feel any better, but when the sunset wasn't available to soothe him, old paper sure gave him enough refuge until it was.

He searched what seemed to be the whole library, the smell of roasted chicken wafting about the place as the scent was billowed through the air by Draco's weaving among the bookcases--nothing, she wasn't there.

An unbearable frustration seemed to sink itself into Draco's stomach, and--before he could do something drastic--he bolted from the library, running long and hard up to the Astronomy Tower. It was his automatic reaction to turn to this place; it seemed, the only sensible place in the whole of Hogwarts where you could get a complete view of the sun as it made its graceful descent into daily oblivion--to his surprise, as he arrived, he realized he hadn't been there once since school had started.

Ginny Weasley had had him a slight too preoccupied with her, it seemed, overly frequent theatrics, to be truly miserable enough to brood over his own misfortunes.

...speaking of Ginny Weasley...

Draco punched the wall hard, his arm jolting as it connected with the concrete. He moaned, slamming his back to the same wall and sliding dejectedly down its stony length. His back pack was abandonned, and he stared longingly out the large window that occupied most of the right wall of the tower. He was too late to see anything but a slight mirage of colors splayed along the horizon, quickly sinking to night; but whatever beauty it held, he took it into himself and attempted to relax.

He hadn't even realized the fact that he was crying; silently, like a beaten child, until he became distinctly aware of a wetness of his cheeks. 'How many times have I been beaten...' he mused, 'And in the end I find myself crying only for Ginny Weasley...?' He brushed the tears away, trying to ignore the feelings like he normally would; like the times Lucius would beat him and he wouldn't even whimper in pain, because he _knew_ in his heart that he was emotionless and unfeeling.

It was a futile effort, and no matter how much he crushed his eyes together, the tears still slipped out to replace the ones that soaked his sleeve.

"Ah Weasley," he said outloud, "What is this you've done to me?"

Draco sat there for a long while, calmly, but with the diamond dart tears still flowing, before finally aching to a stop. He looked up, then out; the night was so dark and quiet, he felt so insignificant.

He only wished his insignificance would wear off long enough for him to find Ginny Weasley in this big, big world.

* * *

The next Potions class was on the Friday before their trip to Hogsmeade, which she had been informed about by an excessively enthusiastic Helen, and Ginny made careful sure to come in extra early and take a seat directly up front, where she knew Malfoy would not resort to. She was sitting, patiently awaiting her peers to file in, facing the door and watching them do so, when he made his entrance. He stood stock still at the door for a few seconds, watching her with a deep frown on his face, though his expression itself was unreadable. Then, he sauntered quietly over to his usual desk, and had to bear Millicent Bulstrode as a table partner for the rest of class.

That evening, Ginny was greeted by an excited Pigwidgeon, the eccentric Weasley family owl, who continuously--showing a considerable amount of endurance--rammed his tiny frame into her Dorm window, vouching for her attention. Letting the bird in, Ginny took the cream colored enveloped from the bird's nipping beak and set him on a stand near the desk that the room's inhabitants shared, giving him a treat to stop his annoying hoot from invading her mind. With a smile, she opened the letter and read,

_Dear Gin,_

_Seems like my own daughter has forgotten about me! Unbelievable. Since you've reached Hogwarts, you've not written your dear old mother one letter! I'm very disappointed Miss Weasley, or has homework had you so busy that you couldn't have even given your mother a small thought and scribbled down a hello? I hope you'd been deathly ill to ignore me for so long, but nonetheless, as your mother I find it in myself to forgive you your numerous flaws._

Ginny smiled at her mother's exaggerations.

_Well, it's been announced, my first son is to be married. Didn't I tell you you'd all leave me? Anyways, Bill owled me the knews yesterday; he'd proposed to Miss Delacour--that dreadful Veela girl, if you remember her--and she'd agreed. I suppose now I'll have to get used to her, and possibly like her a bit, but the effort can wait till later. The wedding's in June, if you were curious, and I expect you to have a sensible date to bring to it._

Ginny rolled her eyes, not entirely surprised at Bill's proposal. She remembered his letters about Fleur, how it seemed that was all he would ever write about. Then her mother's interest in her getting a, 'sensible date'...well, that could be skipped around when the time came.

_Also, I'd be quite pleased with you if you could save me the energy of having to write another letter to Ron; just tell him for me, will you? _

_Thanks, and by the way, how's your search for Prince Charming? I expect a full page of detailed occurences and descriptions of any boy you may have your eye on, as well as another full page briefing to me your past few weeks at Hogwarts. _

_Sincerely,_

_Your eagerly awaiting and much deprived mother._

Ginny laughed in exasperation, her mother's dramatic letter considerably brightening her mood. She stroked Pigwidgeon absently, before pulling out a piece of parchment and a quille from her nearby back pack. She wrote,

_Dear Mum,_

_Sorry for not having owled you, I've been honestly preoccupied with school and everything. Well, things up here are good; Ron's being a ponce, as usual, Harry is lovely and Hermione is still top of the class. _

_As for this Prince Charming you ask about, he's non-existent..._

Ginny paused, her mind suddenly flitting, unsettlingly off its own accord, to Malfoy.

_Though, I do have my eye on some one._

Ginny finished the sentence with a flourish, frowning as she looked at it, but finding it strangely fitting.

_As for descriptions, I'm not giving anything away, but..._

She paused again, unsure.

_He's a sixth year, and we sometimes sit together in Potions._

She looked that sentence over, then crossed it out.

_As for descriptions, I'm not giving anything away, but I can tell you he's not Prince Charming and I'm not getting together with him anytime soon. Unfortunately, I don't think I'll have any date for Bill's wedding (and since when does the sister of the groom need a date to her brother's wedding?). Besides, I'm much to busy with schoolwork to look out for boys! Anyways, mum, everythings good and I'll owl you again before Christmas._

_Love, hugs and kisses,_

_Gin_

Content, she slipped the letter into an envelope and fastened it to Pigwidgeon's small pink foot. She gave the bird one more treat, before ushering the tiny creature outside. She watched him go, that pang of immense sadness briefly settling itself in her stomach as the creature flapped off in the direction of the Burrow. Her mother and father, her sweet parents who loved and adored her so much...What was she going to do without them?

"Ginevra Molly Weasley!" Helen's voice floated into the room, and Ginny turned around to face her friend, "Dinner's in a few, wanna go waste time watching Harry get owned in chess?"

Ginny smiled at her long-time friend, "Sure."

Together the two girls clattered downstairs, giggling in unison as Helen briefed Ginny on the newest boy she had her eye on. When finally they reached the Common Room, they both took seats adjacant to where a seemingly intense chess match was taking place, Ron with his brows furrowed deeply and Harry with a bead of sweat inching down his forehead. A few other Gryffindors were present, as well, but most of them had better things to do than watch the Boy-Who-Lived get beaten at yet another game of chess by his long-time sidekick.

Ginny and Helen believed likewise, but the two boys' chess matches had always been an old excuse to talk openly about certain things, without the worry of too many overhearing--let alone bothering to pay attention.

"So," Helen started, as she wiggled her rear into the comfy armchair, the fire crackling contentedly across the room, "tomorrow's Hogsmeade..."

Ginny nodded, "Yeah, you told me already."

"I know...but, you see..."

Ginny looked at her friend questioningly, "Is something wrong?"

"Well, I know that usually the two of us would go _together_...it's been kind of a tradition for the first Hogsmeade trip of the year after all...but see...that boy I was telling you about--"

"Oh. My. God," Ginny breathed, a smile pushing at her lips, "You two are going out?"

Helen blushed, "He asked me this evening if I'd fancy having some Butterbeer with him at The Three Broomsticks...I agreed."

"Oh, that's great!"

"I thought you'd be angry, though!"

Ginny shook her head, smiling, "Of course not, Helen--I'm so happy for you. But I can only let you go on one condition..."

Helen looked startled, "What's that..?"

"That you give me all the juicy details afterwards!"

The two friends proceeded to burst into random fits of giggles, to Ron and Harry's displeasure. "Will you two shut up!" Ron snarled, his ears red as Harry took down his bishop, "You're going to make me lose!" They continued, and before dinner Helen made Ginny promise to come up to her Dorm room to help her choose what to wear.

* * *

That evening, Hermione eyed Ginny worriedly; the red head seemed distracted, not her usual bubbly self. "I heard about Helen going off with that boy from Hufflepuff--are you sure you're going to be okay tomorrow?" she asked, the bushy haired girl idly munching on a half-eaten kabbab, almost knocking over her pumpkin juice with a stray elbow. Her honey brown eyes relfected concern as she watched the youngest Weasley.

Hermione's words knocked Ginny unpleasantly out of her reverie--she had been glancing restlessly around the Great Hall, trying to avoid the eyes of one Draco Malfoy. The boy had been glaring at her, intently, for the longest while, unconsciously eating brussel sprouts, but most of the time just chewing on his fork. His eyes, a molten silver, seemed to bore into her, willing her to look his way. It took all Ginny could muster to keep her gaze from flying to him and absorbing his guilt-ridden and worry-washed appearance. "I'll be fine," Ginny replied, absently, "I have plans, as well." Ginny didn't even flinch at the last sentence, one she knew instantly was a lie. Ginny Weasley had _no idea_ what she was going to do at Hogsmeade tomorrow.

Hermione didn't buy Ginny's brief answer, but she thought better than to pry, instead turning away and proceeding to join Parvati and Lavendar's conversation about Lavendar's newest beau.

* * *

Ginny watched, amused, as Helen just about sorted through her whole wardrobe in search of something to wear.

"What do you think of this?" she questioned, holding up a black camisole, a brown, flowing skirt and a knit sweater, "Do you think it'll give the impression I need?"

Ginny chuckled at Helen's desperation. "And what impression is that?"

"A I'm-A-Good-Girl-But-Don't-Hesitate-To-Kiss-My-Brains-Out-Because-I've-Been-Having-Dirty-Dreams-About-You-From-The-Second-I-Knew-You-Existed sort of thing..."

Ginny was, by this time rolling about on the bed laughing, clutching at her stomach as she saw Helen's bewildered face. "Are-are you serious?" Ginny choked.

Helen rolled her eyes, "Of course!"

The two proceed into another half hour of exasperation on Helen's behalf, and hysterics on Ginny's. By the time they were finished, the decision had been made on the same black camisole, alongside a pair of denim jeans and a light brown, button-up sweater. "It's perfect," Helen sighed, sitting exhaustedly down next to Ginny, "I'll have him snogging my brains out in no time!"

The two chuckled, laying back onto the bed and staring quietly up at the ceiling, Ginny's mind traveling instantly to Malfoy. She sighed.

"You okay, Gin?" Helen asked, turning to face her friend, "You haven't been yourself lately."

"I'm fine, really. Just stressed out with all the homework and stuff."

"Is it really hard for you?" said Helen, "I mean, taking sixth year classes and all that?"

"It's not too bad," Ginny replied, "Difficult at times, exhausting for sure...but not really _hard_ hard."

"I see," Helen said, eyeing the ceiling thoughtfully, "Have you been...attracting any unwanted attention?"

Ginny jerked upright, very suddenly, her first instinct racing to Malfoy. Unwanted attention, indeed...but then, she was the one who had been giving the attention. "Ehm...not really, why?"

"I just noticed today that Malfoy has been...staring at you, sort of."

Ginny's heart skipped a beat, blood rushing to her cheeks. "Oh really?"

"Yup, he has been staring over at the Gryffindor table for a while now, looking at _you_; and that day you skipped dinner, he looked almost frantic. Do you two...have something going on?"

Ginny laughed, harshly. "Me and Malfoy--are you kidding? No chance in hell."

Helen laughed, though a little nervously. "It's just, you know, that day you were crying and you said it was because of him, and then he keeps looking at you, and you two were sitting together in Potions for a while...all of that, it sort of arises suspicion on my part, you know?"

Ginny tried to sound light-hearted, but all that happened was a little squeeky sound from the bottom of her throat. "Oh Helen," she forced, "You _know_ I would tell you if me and Malfoy were having a fling or something. It's just one of those things I would tell you." She stuck her tongue out, trying to look playful.

Helen giggled. "I know! If you do, you _have_ to share, though. He's _damn_ hot!" Helen laughed.

Ginny choked, suddenly the idea of sharing Malfoy making a bit of jealousy arise in her stomach. 'What the hell?' she swore, 'He's not even mine to share!'

"Yes Gin, you _have_ to admit; he's _hot_! He's so tall and slender, and _strong_; have you seen those thighs clenched around a broom..._damn_! His hands are so big and his fingers are so mischeviously long..." Ginny's eyes were beginning to widen in a sort of silent terror, to Helen's amusement, "His hair, oh god, ever since he stopped slicking it back like his father--"

"Eeew! Helen stop!" Ginny screeled desperately.

"...And those blue, blue eyes..."

Ginny froze, Helen freezing, too, as she saw her friend's face change. "No," Ginny murmured quietly, "His eyes aren't blue." She looked Helen earnestly in the eyes, "They're grey."

"Gin--"

"Helen, it's about time I leave now. You know, it's getting late." Ginny started, arising from the bed and making her way towards the door.

"Wait!" Ginny paused, Helen taking a deep breathe. The red-head turned slowly, almost afraid when she saw the look of revelation and knowledge in her friend's eyes. "Look Gin, I don't know what's been going on between you two, and frankly, I'm not about to ask. All I know, and all I want to tell you, is that you should always listen to your heart. Never let your mind control you too far, because the heart is the center of all that is good. And, Gin, when you get the chance to love, always _always_ jump at it. It's better to have loved and lost, to have never loved at all."

Ginny felt the tears prick at her eyes as she walked the way back down to her room. Helen knew her too well; better than she knew herself, probably. And Malfoy...In Ginny's mind, she saw Malfoy, sad and down-trodden being dragged along by his cruel-eyed father; she saw him tensed in the corner of his cabin on the Hogwarts Express with a bloody bandage around his hand; she saw him deathly thin and hungry and she saw him with his bleeding finger out-stretched, a look of innocent expectance in his haunted eyes...she saw a Malfoy she had hoped didn't exist--she saw the Malfoy who was vulnerable to the harsh ways of the world just as much as she was.

She saw this Malfoy, and had no idea what to do.

**Author's Note: Next chappy Hogsmeade trip; review and tell me what you think :-)**


	7. Chapter 7

Sunsets

For Draco, breakfast the next morning was literally an anguishing experience. All he could do was look over to the Gryffindor table, eyeing that blasted Weasley and wondering why the hell he found the need to in the first place. It was a Saturday, but he'd still awakened earlier than necessary--ignoring all the so-called Malfoy necessities, he'd flew out the Dormitories and to the Great Hall as if it had suddenly become a vital and painfully interesting addition to his life. The other Slytherins had eyed him a bit unpleasantly; as seemed to be the trend this year, he did not fit the sleek and calm outlook the rest of them had settled into.

Draco Malfoy huffed into his seat, trying in vain to gather his robes around him in a vaguely presentable manner--still, it was a bit too noticeable the way his eyes flashed to and fro; hurrying down for a split second to fasten a button, then rushing back up to linger a longing moment on the Gryffindor table, searching for that tumble of fiery hair.

When she did arrive, Draco was in no better condition than he had been when he entered the Hall--he had absently chewed on the crust of some toast, wriggled his eggs about in his plate, downed four glasses of orange juice, and one of pumpkin. At her sight, his fidgeting vanished, replaced by the familiar throb of guilt and _pain _in his chest--a familiarity that, to him, was so startling and unknown it fit perfectly. He didn't feel the need to move any longer; just to sit in a stinging peace and watch the Weasel in all her glory--a glory, he sometimes thought, he'd been offered to share. Again and again, as he watched her smile and chat with her friends, he relived that incident in the library, every memory of her hurt eyes making him clutch at his pants in desperation; though for what, he did not know. He thought of her anger that had bitten him in the Potions room--yet of her compassion, gently healing his finger with all the skill of a medi-witch; and all of this simply made him bite his tongue so hard it bled.

It was a mixture of befuddlement, anger and guilt that ate him so, that left him so confused that his world seemed to spin and spin and spin...Why had she come to him in the first place? What right had she to intrude that first day in the Hogwarts Express? What right had she to intrude _at all_! It was bizarre; he knew it was unecessary to linger on something decidedly lost, but he could not help the feeling that what was lost would always be too much for him to stomach. She had started this, and he seemed to have ended it; whatever shred of civil manner she had felt towards _him_, Draco Malfoy, the boy who had made her childhood memories a diary of haunted words, the boy who relentlessly had taunted her family and ignored her for years...whatever shred of civility she had held towards _him_ was gone. The only compassion he would recieve, if any, would be limited--it was her store of civility towards a beggar, some one she did not know or care for. It was her store saved for those she could not help but pity.

But how, _how_ could she go on like nothing had happened--like she hadn't seen the ghost of what once was in his eyes, like she hadn't once tried to help him? And why would she give up so easily? Where was her determination, her persistence...?

And why, why in the name of god did his stomach seem _so_ full of butterflies every time she smiled?

* * *

The Dormitory Draco shared with other sixth year boys was empty, all of them already having departed for Hogsmeade. After breakfast Draco had dragged himself up to this room, and thrown himself across the bed--he had already decided that he wouldn't go to Hogsmeade. It was a waste of his time, not that his time itself wasn't a useless thing. It was, but Draco still felt the need to spend it wrapped up in his four poster, brooding and submerging himself in waves and waves of self-pity and chronic depression. 'I might as well go mad,' he found himself thinking, for once shivering at the cold, empty feeling the Dorm room radiated, 'I won't be missed...'

_His father's hands groped and touched..._

Draco rolled over.

_The laughing was hysterical, crazy, insane..._

Fists clenched on already sweat-soked sheets.

_"Who am I going to fuck? Who am I going to fuck?"_

_Tap, tap, tap._

Grey eyes pressed themselves tightly closed, succumbing to the nightmare.

_Tap, tap, tap._

_Tap, tap, TAP TAP TAP TAP._

His eyes blinked open as he bolted upright with a gasp, head turning every which way in search of the ruckus.

_TAP TAP TAP._

Finally his eyes fell on the window, and his heart immediately stopped. The whole room seemed to go cold, his very blood freezing as he recognized Lucius's vicious looking hunting owl. The creature was a sleek tawny color, with black-rimmed eyes that showed nothing but brute intelligence.

_TAP TAP TAP._

The creature was getting impatient: he wanted in. Draco warily eyed the black enveloped fastened to long-nailed claws--he slowly approached the window, letting the animal in with a sigh of resignation. The owl settled on Draco's bed-head for a moment, hurriedly picking at the clip to the envelope, before dropping it curtly on the bed and exiting the way he came. 'So I'm not expected to reply,' Draco thought bitterly, swiping a bead of sweat away from his forehead and whiping clammy hands on his jeans--which he now realized were wet with perspiration, any way. His shirt, this morning crisp and white, was now moist and clingy--his robes rumpled where he'd thrown them over the bed.

Ignoring it, he testily picked up the letter, his breath quickening with restrained fear. Clenching it between his fingers and crumpling the paper, he gritted his teeth, needing to know he was stronger than this...than this flimsy parchment. How could it hurt him? It couldn't. It shouldn't. 'Get it over with, Draco,' he told himself, idly smoothing it out and ripping the seal, emblazoned with the Malfoy crest.

It read:

_Dear Draco,_

_I just thought I should inform you that you're expected back for the Christmas Holidays._

_I'm sure we could spend some time together._

_Lucius._

Draco had never felt so angry so fast--before he knew it the letter was no more than small pieces of parchment slowly wafting down to his feet, his lip was bleeding because he'd bitten it, and his knuckles were cold-white with fury. 'Spend some time? Spend some time!' he screamed to himself, 'I'd rather die, you...you...' Falling to his knees, Draco dipped his head to the floor, clutching the carpet in outrage and surrender. His tears seemed to soak through the fabric, making the texture on his cheeks damp with moisture.

He looked up, and all he saw was the dim prospect of his future.

He looked up, and he saw Lucius.

Cold rage is something very few people can truly experience--when they do, it is more likely to destroy them than to help them release frustration or anger in any way. Draco's cold rage at that moment was all-consuming--and very literally. Trunk-lids were ripped from their hinges, the bathroom door ruined with dents and blood, shoe marks went deep into the walls, tearing the wallpaper and woodwork; the curtains on the beds were destroyed, fine green velvet and silk now only jagged ribbons on the floor; feathers covered the carpet, pillows ripped from the center...

By the time Draco was done in the Dorm, and dejectedly heading towards the old, discreet pub in Hogsmeade, the house elves knew that this would be one of their hardest clean-up conquests in a long, long while.

* * *

Ginny's whole Hogsmeade trip thus far had consisted of being a beautiful but unwanted third wheel to Parvati and Lavender. Hermione had gone off with Harry and Ron, and Helen was with her latest infatuation--so Ginny was feeling blatantly out of place and miserable. It was late evening, when they were just exiting Honeydukes to hike back up to Hogwarts, that the rain started. Parvati and Lavendar squeeled in terror, their hair, they claimed, going to a dreadful waste--nevertheless they giggled and stumbled up the darkened street. Thunder and lightening rattled the skies, making Ginny cringe as she tagged along behind them; eventually she slowed, letting them stay about a yard ahead of her--still in sight, but blissfully out of ear-shot.

She walked doggedly, as if every limb was tired. Pulling her cloak over her head and allowing her shoes to squelch into the softening mud, she trudged on, her mind all the while thinking of the one person she somehow found heart to blame for this. 'Maybe if Malfoy hadn't been born,' she mused sourly, 'today wouldn't have been so despicable and rainy.' Even she had to smile at that--the thought was absolutely absurd and delicately far-fetched.

Still her mind clasped onto its musings, now switching deliberately, it seemed, to Malfoy's molten eyes. Ginny shivered in almost delight, and a bit of terror, at the way they would stare her down, causing the hairs to rise all over her body with the notion that some one's sole attention was on her. It was more than that, though, and Ginny knew it, though she would _never _admit it.

A gutteral moan startled her, effectively, out of her reverie. She was just by the Three Broomsticks and still had a ways to go in order to get back to school, but the moan was so painfully familiar that she had to stop. She looked around, pivoting on her spot, until she heard the moan again, her eyes immediately traveling to the drain in the alley between the Three Broomsticks and the next shop over; there, in the mud and barely recognizable was a human male--Ginny heart's sunk as she realized who exactly it was, a sliver of silver-blonde hair and another deep-throated moan reassuring her of his identity.

She looked around to Parvati and Lavender, found them two mighty specks on the horizon amidst the raining exterior and slowly sauntered towards the fallen Malfoy. She leaned down towards him, squinting in the rain, catching some in her palms to gently whipe the grimy face of her subject. "Moowrrr," he groaned, and she smelt fire whiskey on his breath, slowly realizing he was drunk, "Zhe wants mowrrrrrrrr..."

"Oh Malfoy," she muttered as her fingers cleared the mud from his face--he'd obviously been rolling about here in his delirium for quite a bit, "What have you done?" For a moment his shaded grey eyes seemed to focus on her face, to understand her question--and then the hail started. Ginny heard it before she felt it, like a barrage of small stones being thrown on every roof in the town, and flinched as her back and head became kin to those roofs. Malfoy winced, the chunks of ice bouncing off his head and shoulders, clattering to the pavement.

For the first time, Ginny acknowledged how cold it was, and how any thought of reaching Hogwarts in these conditions would result in some sort of injury. As if to justify this, Malfoy uttered an agonized moan, and Ginny looked to see a small trickle of blood being washed down his face from a tiny wound on his forehead. "Great, just great," she said aloud, quickly making a move to tug the boy out of the drain. She would have to find shelter in the Three Broomsticks until the storm stopped, and though she wished she could, she could not find the heart to leave the drunken Malfoy youth out here in these conditions.

After some trial, he had been pulled out of the drain, and he lazily slung an arm around her. He was covered in mud, and somehow managed to give her a light coating of the same substance as she pulled her wobbly patient along towards the entrance to the Three Broomsticks.

Ginny was grateful once they entered the foyer--it was warm and dry, though both she and her subject contributed to the small lakes that seemed to gather on the tiled floor. "Uh!" Ginny heard Rosmerta come around the bend, " 'Nother Hogwarts here and wettin' up my porch--oh, hallo Miss Weasley."

Ginny smiled wearily at the portly woman, "Sorry, Rosy," she offered.

"Ah, no worries. I've just 'bout perfected my Scouring Charm the last five times. Come on in, I'll get you an your friend a room; sorry, but ya'll both goin' to have to share, I've only one left, but I can promise you a good, warm dinner each. What happened to yeh both, anyways--looks like ya'll had a jolly good roll in the muds, eh?" Ginny quietly pulled the giddy Malfoy along with her, dripping all over the hallway as Rosmerta led them to their room. "Any who," she said, opening the door and handing Ginny a pair of keys, "Dumbledore's already owled me, 'bout fifty of ya'll staying here tonight, I'll be damned. This storm's--"

"All night?" Ginny inquired, her eyes widening in horror.

"All night. Storm ain't lettin' up 'till mid-mornin' t'morrow, if that. He's sent the fare for ya'll t'get good rooms and good treatment, not that I'd give ya'll otherwise," she scratched her chin for a moment, "Be up in an hour or two with dinner; make yurselves at home. For god sakes, clean the carpet for me--you've done quite a mess just standin' there, you two--and have a hot shower you both..." The woman continued back down the hall, commenting ocassionally on how damned Mother Nature could be, and how her little motel was as full as it ever was.

Ginny kicked the door shut behind her, almost losing her balance as the larger being braced on her swayed. She had not acknowledged this before, but Malfoy was disconcertingly close to her, his face slung by her shoulders as his bent knees supported him. Upright, he was a good head taller than her; down here and in this condition, he was simply a deadweight to her lithe form. As gently as she could, she disentangled him from her, and lay him face-up on the floor. There, with Malfoy restlessly dozing on the floor before her, she surveyed their quarters.

It was a nice room, spacey and tastefully furnished. Not a room a _Malfoy_ would have voluntarily agreed to, she thought bitterly, but a room more than grand to a Weasley. One queen sized four poster rested against the wall, it's sheets neatly folded and drawn back; two bedside tables, one with a lamp the other with a notepad; a closet, dresser, small coffee table and two armchairs, with a mediocre fire place as the center piece. To one side was another door, which Ginny assumed would be the bathroom. Forgetting her charge, she galloped excitedly towards it, bursting forth into a marble-sinked masterpiece. The shower was large and roomy, and, at this moment, oh so enticing to the bone-chilled, mud-adorned Weasley.

More than happy, she stripped her clothing and proceeding to scrub herself clean under hot jets of carressing water.

**Author's Note: Thanks millions for the reviews; they make me unbearably happy. And sorry for the delay; my cousin is spending the summer here, and my mother insists that as the only other person close enough to her age to be her friend, I should spend every waking moment with her. Not that I mind; it's darned good to have some sensible company in this hole of doom, and she's always been like a sister to me. I would appreciate her more, however, if my reading and writing time (which I prefer to do in the solitude and isolation of my study or bedroom) weren't so largely disrupted. **

**But PSHA! Who needs to sleep, right? Well, she does; and I, being the everlasting insomniac on this hot summer night, spent sadly without my boyfriend, seem to have found the ideal time to write my weekly updates. Doesn't help that I have to wake up at eight tomorrow and it's currently 2:27 AM. I shall live.**

**Okayzz; so the Pearl (or Jenni :P) left me a divine review (or two), and in the first of this pair asked a few questions ; here I shall attempt to answer them: Well, yeah, I suppose Ginny was top of her year :P She did impressively in most of her subjects, and well enough in the rest of them to be promoted to sixth year subjects while she's in fifth year. Mainly, this was a sort of pivot point that leads to my beautifully cliche (as you put it ;-)) scenes, which is ultimately my biggest handhold on their romance. As for the Hogwarts Express thingy with Ginny going to Draco's cabin; I didn't mean that she was looking for a free cabin, more that she was looking for the cabin in which held her friends (namely Herms, Lav, Pav and Helen). However, if you peered into a cabin and saw a marvelously sexy guy with a bloody bandage around his knuckles, wouldn't you oggle and ponder for a moment too long? ;-) As for them having to sit together in Potions; there are two main scenarios that could have lead to Draco sitting alone (and can be fitted together anyways); one is because he _has_ changed and didn't want to sit with any one of his backstabbing friends (if you think about it, his father is a backstabber too, because you don't expect a father to be so cruel...in a way, his emotional state allows good reason for him not to want to be around those 'friends'), two, he may have came in just a bit earlier than Ginny, and here I assume people don't enjoy sitting at the very back of the classroom in the gloomiest corner.**

**Phew! Okay, now...R&R on this chapter, and I shall dutifully work on the next amidst math homework, visiting cousins and insomnia.**


	8. Chapter 8

Sunsets

The bathroom was a steamy sauna of warm mist by the time Ginny was willing to relinquish her pleasure, and it smelt faintly of mango-cherry shampoo. Wrapping a large, fluffy towel tightly around her slender form, Ginny stepped out of the shower--and realized she had nothing to wear. Cursing herself for not thinking about this earlier, she idly squeezed a fountain of droplets from her long, tangled and utterly wet mane, before opening the bathroom door to peak out into the room.

The cold air hit her hard, and she shivered, having already remembered the room's other occupant. An armchair blocked her view of his sleeping form (apart from a pair of mud slathered boots), so she could only hope he was, indeed, still asleep. Tentatively, she left the warm haven of the bathroom and tiptoed towards the closet, hoping beyond all hopes she could find something at least the equivalent of a robe until Rosmerta could loan her some night clothes--since she was, decidedly, going to spend the night in this room, with Mr. Malfoy.

The closet door creaked slightly as she opened it, but she was relieved to find a rich mahogany robe hanging limply from a clothes rack, next to it a royal blue, slightly longer. Nodding her head in approval, she quietly dropped her towel to the floor, suddenly bare to the elements, but hastily tugged the mahogany robe out of the closet.

* * *

Draco was just coming to when he heard the creak of a nearby door--which not only alerted his suspicions, but seemed to unleash a barrage of pain in his temples. His head throbbed, and as he blinked his eyes open the lights from above seemed to sting and make his pupils convulse in a primal need to explode. Fighting the urge to moan in anguish at his newly discovered hangover, Draco quietly sat up, the creaking door not forgotten.

He quickly took in his surroundings--he was in front of a plush armchair, no doubt out of view of whatever else was in the room with him. Below him was a puddle of muddy and wet carpet, everywhere else the carpet was a subtle beige, inching beneath a large four-poster bed, a coffee table and another armchair. A fire place lay bare not too far from him, the hearth welcoming and homely.

That did not help the fact that Draco was in an unknown place, and that very possibly behind the armchair that served as his hiding place, there was another being. Another person who could be potentially harmful. An image of his father rose up suddenly in his mind, and panic, fear seemed to clench at his stomach...what if...? Pushing the feelings down, Draco slowly rested his back against the armchair, intending to gaze around it--he could hear movement, human movement...something being yanked...

Peering around the side of the armchair, his breathe was caught and quickly left him. His heart stopped, and all the blood in him seem to boil and rush to his groin as his eyes registered what was before him. A female...a nude, wet female. The light, which had previously irritated his eyes, was now thanked, as Draco scanned the person before him--noting every droplet of water that slid down her form and lingered on her. Dripping wet curls of tangled red-brown hair tumbled down a back of creamy pale skin, lightly dusted with freckles; shoulders arched, waists and hips coming together in the harmony of a slender and fragile hour-glass figure. Her back ended in the glory of a rounded buttocks, pale as the rest of her, which leaned down into graceful, smooth legs that turned into proportioned calves. A damp towel lay at her feet.

Draco licked his lips, almost unable to control the eroticism on innocent display before him and the feelings it stirred in his stomach--but his fantasy was soon erased as a deep crimson robe was slid over the nude body. He huffed, and quickly turned away as the person stiffened, pressing his lower back to the foot of the armchair and praying she had not noticed...If she did, god forbid! There was no way he could hide the tent of need in his pants, and he found himself staring down at it and cursing her and his reaction. It had been a long, long while since anything like this had gouged such an...interesting expression from him--it had been even longer since he'd been laid. 'It's all the alcohol, all the alcohol,' he repeated to himself, willing her to go back into the shower, since that was evidently where she had been.

"Malfoy?"

The voice was so familiar, and so coveted it just made the tent in his pants strain further--Weasley, Ginny Weasley. He was in a room--a bedroom, with Ginny Weasley. He pressed his eyes closed, even more guilty than before. 'She's going to think I'm a pervert, above all else,' he cursed, willing the pressing feeling in his belly to go away.

He heard footsteps, but kept his eyes closed, even as she walked around the armchair towards him. He felt the silence tense. "Did you...did you see anything?" he could almost hear the embarassment in her voice, and he felt inclined to look towards her, impulsively pulling his knees up to hide the evidence.

But should he lie? Should he lie to her, the girl to whom he had already done one injustice too many? He took in her face, the slight blush that had krept into her cheeks, making her looked flushed and wind-blown. Her hair was messy and wet, framing her face in many dripping locks, and the fuzzy robe was pulled tight over her front, showing only the slightest suggestion of the figure that he had not too long ago admired. He took all of her in, and knew that he could not lie to her. If he did, if he could lie to innocent, naive and beautiful Ginny Weasley over a matter of her modesty, then he truly, truly was the devil's son. Then, he truly was Lucius's son.

"Ah..." he hesitated, suddenly nervous, directing his gaze to his twisting hands, "I mean...not...ah..." He took a deep breath, "A bit," he said, with finality, and felt himself dare to blush, "Just a--ah--bit."

Ginny sighed, and he chanced a glance at her face, which was now comically red with humiliation. "Well..." She stomped back to the bathroom, abruptly, leaving Draco sitting where she had found him.

* * *

Ginny Weasley blushed as she had never blushed before, her porcelain skin flushing with embarrassment and becoming a rather impressive shade of plum. She slid down the door, not sure whether to laugh or cry, holding her face in her hands, wet hair dripping about her shaking figure. 'Dear, dear lord,' she thought, 'Of all the males to see me naked, to be the _first_ to see any part of my naked body--Malfoy!' If she thought that was disturbing, her next thoughts frightened her even more.

In those mercury silver eyes, Ginny Weasley had detected arousal. She hadn't even touched him, hadn't even said a word to him...hadn't even turned around, for god's sake, and Malfoy had gotten turned on! She thought of all the rumors she had heard about the so-called Slytherin Sex God--and then the realization hit her. She was stuck in a room with Draco Malfoy, the most notoriously handsome, sexy and seductive boy, possibly in all of Hogwarts--not to mention the one boy who had taunted her and her family, christened all her values and morals to be dirt and proved himself worthy of the title 'prick' after brutishly dismissing her innocent help.

He was the boy, in whose eyes, she had seen not only arousal, but sincerity, a type of honest apology that couldn't be expressed in words. She had seen regret, guilt and maybe even a bit of remorse--she had seen so much, yet so little, and she found herself pressed taut against the door, wanting more. She wanted to know everything about him; what was behind those devilishly attractive--and currently mud-adorned--features, behind the chiselled and accomplished Quidditch Seeker, behind the good grades and pompous attitude...behind the facade. She wanted to know why it had all changed this year, why he was so different...and why she seemed to be drawn to him.

* * *

Draco was still in the same position Ginny had left him when once again the bathroom door creaked open, two bare feet padding out onto the carpet, then over to the bed, where they abruptly disappeared, to the sighing groan of the mattress. There was a silence, thick with tension, which Ginny seemed to have no problem breaking. "Well, Malfoy, you might as well get cleaned up," she paused, "There are more towels and things in the bathroom--just perform a bit of a Scouring Charm on your clothes and send them down the chute, they'll be back cleaner than ever soon enough." At Ginny's words, Draco found himself rather flustered, finally detecting his mud-soaked appearance--and the fact that he smelled highly of Fire Whiskey.

"How did I get here?" he asked, a bit hesitant, reluctant to turn and face her, but knowing he had to eventually. Getting up, he gingerly removed his boots, placing the mentally dubbed 'mud monsters' by the door next to Ginny's raggedy runners.

"How about you get cleaned up first, and then I tell you the whole story," she said, and he was startled--and a bit relieved--to find a bit of playfulness in her voice. Maybe it meant that she had forgiven him?

Obediently, and without sparing her a glance, he plodded over to the bathroom, promptly locking the door behind him and disgustedly stripping. He smelt of sewers and alcohol, a nasty combination, his once brisk white shirt and casual black pants now a continuous suit of smelly brown. He was quick in his Scouring Charm, though they didn't seem to be of much help, and he haphazardly dumped his dirty clothing into the chute, before contentedly stepping into the shower.

The hot water seemed to work miracles on his hangover, washing it all away with his mud-coating and making him feel pleasantly clean again. Though there was still a bit of a throb in his temples, Draco decided it was bearable, and stepped, satisfied, out of the shower, wiping himself off with a towel, before wrapping it around his waist. As seemed to be his custom, he watched himself in the mirror, tracing his fingers along the small scars and cursing his appearance. 'I'm not my father,' he said as if it were his mantra, 'I'm not my father.'

There was a knock at the bathroom door, then a voice. "If you were wondering, there's a robe out here you can use. Rosmerta just brought dinner and she said she'd try to get us some sleeping clothes, too. So Malfoy, whenever you're done..." He almost shuddered at her voice, the feeling of pleasure coursing through him refusing to be repressed. She didn't sound angry and that gave him a type of hope he had never before conceived.

Looking into the mirror one last time, he twisted the doorknob and stepped out.

* * *

Ginny turned modestly away when Draco exited the bathroom, trying to suppress the tingles that rose in her stomach from the knowledge that he was very probably naked behind her. She squeezed the pillow she was perched on tighter between her legs, fighting the urge to look...just one glance...one glance at the Slytherin Sex God, just for memory. It didn't matter that he was an asshole, didn't matter...nothing mattered, just that one look that she could keep with her for the rest of her life...

She mentally kicked herself, wondering where the hell that had come from. Almost frantically, she played with a loose thread on the hem of her robe, before quickly attuning her senses to the nearby dinner. On the coffee table were two trays, both containing a warm roll of baked bread, a serving of mashed potatoes and a leg of succulent chicken, accompanied by two warm Butterbeers for afterwards, two glasses and a flask of pumpkin juice. 'It's almost romantic,' she mused, just as Malfoy walked back into the bathroom, doubtlessly to discard his towel in his newly attired robe. She found she was almost grateful for the fact that she was no longer tempted to look...that would put her among the likes of him: staring at her while she was unclothed!

Somehow, the very thought that he'd had an interest in her, sent a longing feeling through her form.

Hastily, with as much precision as she could muster, she walked over to the coffee table, picking up her tray then moving into one of the armchairs. As if on cue, the fire place burst into life, its warm tendrils casting shadows on the walls as the storm raged outside. Ginny crossed her legs, hugging herself tight as she listened to the rain and hail and the mournful wail of the wind, placing the tray atop her knees and a glass of pumpkin juice within close reach. As if it were all the rage among the girls her age, she began daintily picking apart her roll of bread, occassionally pushing a scrumptuous piece past her lips and into her mouth.

She heard Malfoy fiddle about with his tray and pumpkin juice for a bit, before settling himself in a scornfully aristocratic manner in the other armchair, and tearing his roll neatly in half. With as much grace as she could, she reached forward for her forgotten fork and idly began swirling her mashed potatoes around in her plate, making slight clinking noises against the plate.

She felt his eyes on her, a feeling that was quickly becoming familiar.

"You have an interesting way of eating, Weasley," he commented, and she strenuously suppressed the urge to shudder at the sound of his clear, rugged voice as it cut the room's air.

"You eat like a snobby dick, even when there's no one but me around to see you," she retorted, her hurt at his previous dismissal arising as an endlessly bitter taste in her mouth.

Her heart skipped a beat at what happened next.

He smiled.

It wasn't one of those smirks he was so famous for--this one was a genuine smile, and Ginny found she actually liked the way it looked on him. It was a tiny smile, barely noticeable since only the very corners of his mouth rose, but it was beautiful. It extended right to his eyes, which seemed to beckon her to fall at his knees in all her whimsical glory--those grey, grey eyes, with a look of approval and amusement...She found her heart melting and all feelings of bitterness towards him dissipating. It was almost as if he was trying to show her he could be a human, too.

"And should your presence matter to my manners?" he asked, just as Ginny looked away, intent to get away from that enchanting smile.

She shovelled a massive load of mashed potatoes into her mouth, looking at him slightly confused and thanking the potatoes for a reason not to answer that. It wasn't an insult, but for some reason it still hurt. Did that mean he didn't find her different from others...? Wasn't she...special? For some reason she longed to see him uncut, longed to see him without all this...finesse. Was there a Malfoy, void of human social niceties, purely raw and natural as the rest of them?

Ginny almost choked, but quickly reached forward to swallow some pumpkin juice. Boy, was she letting her thoughts get the better of her today. With as little discretion for manners as Malfoy was pale, she picked up the chicken leg and took a large bite. From beneath her eyelashes, she saw Malfoy with his half smile, looking to his food and shaking his head in obvious amusement.

She swallowed just as Malfoy picked up his knife and fork, beginning on his chicken leg with such poise that it almost made her want to ask him how he did it. He was so...perfect, so robotic it almost scared her. She took another bite of her chicken, almost unconsicous of the fact that they had fallen into a companionable silence, for once completely at ease with each other.

They were a quarter ways through their respective butterbeers, content with the peace their conversation had given way to, when there was a knock at the door. Ginny looked up, alarmed, for the only noise that she had been able to discern had been her breathing, Malfoy's breathing and the sound of the violent tempest that seemed to eat at the world outside those walls. That had been enough, and strangely, perfect. She was startled to find that she looked right at Malfoy, and he at her, as if the other hoped to find the answer to this disturbance in eachother. His grey eyes burned into hers, and she recognized sudden panic reflected in them, before they closed shut to her once again.

She frowned, but said nothing, placing her butterbeer down, and heading confidently to the door. She heard Malfoy stand up behind her, as if preparing himself for a fight. She vaguely remembered telling him that she'd later inform him of his whereabouts, ecetera, but once she saw Rosmerta's jolly face in the doorway, she soon forgot once more.

"Hey Rosy," she greeted, motioning for the woman to enter, though she politely refused.

"Ere, girl, your clothes for tonight--" she heard Malfoy come up behind her, "'Oly bejesus, 'zat a Malfoy you got with you? Means, I couldn't make him out through all that mud, but--" Ginny was somehow acutely aware of her room-mate tonight, and practically felt him stiffen defensively.

"Yup, it's a Malfoy," Ginny interrupted, good-naturedly, "And I'm pleased to inform you he's sober and civil for tonight."

Rosmerta laughed, dismissing Malfoy almost as soon as she had noticed him. "Anyways, darlin', I washed your knickers for you," she handed Ginny a faded blue pair of cotton knickers, which were hurriedly and with a slight blush pushed into a robe pocket, "And I got you a pair o' my very own nightie. It's a comfy number, not the newest or the nicest, but it'll do you for tonight." She passed Ginny what looked like a wash-out old t-shirt a few sizes too big for her own generous form, let alone for Ginny's.

"Thanks, Rosy, and for Malfoy?"

He stepped forward now, as if the mention of his name was a summoning into the conversation. Rosy grinned, looking him up and down in his fluffy blue robe. "Nice body on this one, eh Gin, even with the teddy bear robe?" Rosy mused, refering to the boy as if he were not standing right in front of her, towering a good few feet above, as well, "Hope you two don't have too much fun." Ginny blushed, covering her mouth to hide her smile behind Malfoy's back, while dutifully rolling her eyes at Rosmerta. "Anyways, here's the best I could scrummage for you, Mr. Malfoy," she said, handing a baggy pair of boxers that he looked at in disbelief.

Ginny couldn't help but go into hysterics as he held them up between two fingers, his mouth open in shock and said in his serious and ever so manly voice, "Are these _clean_?" The world seemed to suddenly be a crazier place, Ginny clutching her stomach at the hilarity of the sight before her, Rosmerta eventually joining her, leaning her portly frame against the opposite wall for support, and a bewildered Malfoy staring at them both.

After the show was over and a distraught Malfoy assured to satisfaction that his nightly attire was rinsed and washed to hygenic perfection, Rosmerta departed, promising to send them up some more butterbeer later on that night. Ginny, still smiling and slightly flushed started, "I'm going to go get changed in the bathroom." Malfoy nodded, still eying the boxers warily.

Discarding the robe on a rack, Ginny surveyed the clothing she would have to consider presentable. The shirt was massive, one side continuously falling off her shoulder no matter how hard she pulled it up, or how often, and falling till just below her knees. She was glad for the refuge of her own knickers, consequently her most comfortable pair. Brushing her unruly and still uncombed hair out of her face and behind her ears in a wild mess, she opened the door, to find Malfoy standing at the closet with his robe in hand, the previously doubted boxers hanging loosely at his hips.

'Oh god, oh god,' she said, struggling to look away, but she couldn't help a slow scan of his body, which she realized made her feel very female indeed. His feet were broad and long, bridging up to legs dusted with almost-white hair. The boxers were baggy, the band just on his hip bones, which were visible amongst a set of washboard abbs, sculpted into a row of lean muscle. His chest was smooth and hairless, hard with wiry power, his nipples slightly erect in the cold air of the room and a light pink. His shoulders were broad as his hips were narrow, strong and protective with powerful arms that suited his extraordinarily tall posture. Then, his face, which she seemed to have already memorized...all its curves and angles and--

"So Weasley, I gather I'm at the Three Broomsticks from the personage of our...host?" he said, his voice that same masculinely rough one she was so familiar with, yet so unaccustomed to.

Breaking away from her observations, she padded over to the arm chair she had previously claimed, extending her feet towards the fire and resuming her date with her now cold butterbeer. "Yup," she said, "I suppose you want to know how you got here?"

"That, and why I have a small cut on my forehead," he said, sitting in his chosen armchair and also returning to his drink.

"Oh! I forgot," she said, slapping her forehead as she remembered the hail clattering to his head and the trickle of blood that the rain had washed away. Motherly instinct in full-mode, she placed her drink on the coffee table and moved over to him, mentally summoning her wand before leaning forward.

"Hold on!" he said, pushing her away, and sending tingles through her body as his large hand brushed her ribcage, "First I want to know how and why, then you can heal all you want."

She suddenly became disctinctly aware of the fact that he smelt like cinnamon spice and rainwater, a warm smell and a slightly sharper one. It seemed to suite him perfectly, both sheerly masculine while still welcoming. Moving back, she stood in front of him, overwhelmed by how much bigger he was than she. Sitting, he was only a bit shorter than she was standing.

"Well, Malfoy," she said, "For some reason you were drunk, wallowing in the drains while it rained. So I was passing by and you were all groaning, so I went to investigate. When I saw it was you, I had every intention of leaving you there to get soaked and continue on my way back to Hogwarts, but then the hail started. That's how you got that cut on your forehead, by the way, so I figured it would be dangerous and wrong to leave you out here, so I dragged you in here and that's that. Dumbledore's paying for our lodging tonight, 'cuz it would be plain dangerous to walk up to the school in this storm." Almost subconsciously, her eyes traveled from its current location, downwards, to where his hands were grasping the plush arms of the chair. Alarmed, she reached out, a trembling hand to one of his knuckles, "What did you do?" she asked, distressed as her eyes took in the bloody, mangled mess that seemed to be both his hands.

He flinched. "Nothing," he said coldly, withdrawing his hands, he folded them over his chest, attempting to conceal the wounds.

Her voice hardened, suddenly remembering the way he didn't seem to want to tell her anything. It seemed almost a personal wound--she wanted to protect him, she realized, she wanted to protect him so badly. Almost tearful with worry and rejection she began, "Why don't you tell me anything, Malfoy? The only thing I ever did was care. I want to help you--don't you see--"

"Well maybe I don't want your help, Weasley," he said, his voice ice and calm as he looked up at her.

"It's not a matter of you wanting anything!" she almost shouted, "It's that _I_ want to, _I_ need to. For some reason, I feel inclined to help you. _Don't you understand?_" Angrily, she stomped back to her armchair, sitting there like an outraged child with her legs crossed and eyes turned downwards as they poured tears.

* * *

'Great, just great,' Draco cursed, anger seething in his stomach, 'I'm stuck with this for the rest of the night.' He glanced over at Ginny, finding that all too familiar guilt well up in his stomach once again as he watched her cry silently to herself. 'This isn't fair,' he groaned inwardly, feeling like crying himself, 'Why do I care about a Weasley? She's nothing to me, yet I can't even stand to see her shed a tear.' He rubbed his face, as if trying to wake up from a dream. 'This is all Lucius's fault. None of this would ever have happened if it weren't for Lucius.' He found his eyes full of tears, and before they could slip out, he turned away, gazing at the fire with as much intensity as he could muster.

But that only seemed to remind him of her more. Red and gold--everything about her was red and gold. Her hair was such a mix of it, you wouldn't be able to believe--her cheeks were red when she was embarrassed, and that made the golden flecks in her deep blue eyes stand out even more. Gryffindor House was red and gold--heck, the girl's whole personality was red and gold...Gold for bravery, valiance, loyalty and a sense of justice and righteousness...Red for her temper, her passion...her love...

Abruptly, with just as much feline grace as usual and an equal lack of thought, he rose from the armchair. He saw Ginny look up at his sudden movement, her eyes puffy and miserable, then watching her expression change to shock as he stopped in front of her, kneeling on one knee, and slowly cupping her cheek as they became level. With gentle movements, he wiped each tear away, not really understanding this impulse, but somehow knowing. When she looked down, shrugging her cheek away from his palm, he slowly hooked his hand under the chin and turned her to look at him.

She was beautiful, and his breath caught, but she was so sad and it was his fault. He had to make it better, and this felt so right. He just hoped the guilt would go away after...after...

His eyes scanned her messy red and gold hair, how it framed her face in wavy lines and softened the lightened freckles across her nose and cheeks. Her lips were puckered and pink; beestung, her nose cute and turned up. Her eyes, those pools of blue and gold, peered at him, confused but willing, so fragile...worried, cautious...She was so beautiful.

Draco didn't know why...but in that moment, every single fibre of his being urged him on. His elbow came to rest on her thigh as he leaned in, the thunder and lightening and clattering of hail and rain and whatever else was out there seeming to relfect his thoughts...chaos, but one sure certainty. From where he touched her, it seemed so right, waves of an indescribable feeling wafting throughout his body as his chest came to rest against her knees...

Closer, closer...

He saw Lucius watching him, yelling and shouting for him to stop...

But all he could _really_ see were her eyes.

He kissed her.

**Author's Note: There were are, my long overdue chapter, hopefully lavishing and lovely. Sorry, but I've had a couple family issues to cope with this past week, a couple adjustments to, well, adjust to. Thanks for waiting, R&R.**


	9. Chapter 9

Sunsets

Ginny didn't know what she had expected when Draco had kneeled down next to her. All of a sudden she had been surrounded by his scent, a scent so intoxicating she was rendered helpless...even as soft skin brushed against hers and hands came to rest against her knees and thighs in preparation for something strange and magical, all at the same time, she could do absolutely nothing. All she'd been able to detect were his warm, carressing eyes, pulling her further and further into him...eyes so filled with confusion, yet a certain confidence of action.

He hovered closer, and she wanted to faint as the metal of his eyes revealed their softer amber flecks, as if with his mood his eyes had yielded to tenderness. God, she wanted him in a way she didn't know was possible. In a way that she knew he was so far out of her league, but in a way that she _had_ to have him. He was _hers_, on some predetermined level, and somehow this year it all seemed to have unravelled.

She didn't know what events had lead up to this strange union, and she hadn't even had a chance to further ponder her circumstances when his gentle thumbs whiped away her tears--tears she found she had already forgotten. Everything seemed to spin, and she found she could no longer look at him...she looked down and away, her eyes studying wringing hands before he...lovingly directed her chin upwards, peering at her with a slight frown, and a look of need so complete her breathe seemed to stall in her throat, and she thought she was choking in awe.

She blinked only once, and in the span of that second his lips were on hers and his fluttering eyelashes tightly shut. It was sudden and carressing, chaste but so naughty, sending tendrils of crackling electricity racing in her blood. Her hairs stood up at its abruptness, how such a mere touch seemed to hold every form of closeness she could ever want with another person. His hands slipped around to her hair, pulling her closer to his chest and tickling her bare shoulder--her hands, tiny and hesitant, slid over his chest, relishing the smoothness and puzzling over the ocassional, unseen bumps.

It was like a whole different world, and she felt so lost; but that didn't matter, because she knew they were lost together. He paused, pulling away, and she ached at the loss, desperate hands hooking behind his back to pull him closer and in for another. This time he teased her, lightly and with the knowledge of experience backing him. His tongue traced her bottom lip, his hands drawing small circles over her back with feather-light fingertips. He almost choked when one of her legs slipped off the couch and around his available hip, eagerly bidding him closer, and it was possibly the feeling of having gone too far that made him pull away, despite her unvoiced protest.

Ginny stared at him, puzzled and a bit ashamed at her newfound liking for kissing. This had by no means been her first kiss--she was quite pretty, as she had been assured, and numerous fumbling boyfriends had pressed their lips to hers in experimental oppurtune--no, Draco Malfoy had not been her first kiss, but he had by far been her best.

She blushed slightly, breathing a bit hard.

He smiled that lop-sided and ever so suited smile, making her melt all over again. Then, he brushed back his hair, revealing the small cut at his hairline, and held his painfully marred hands towards her. "Heal all you want, Weasley," he told her softly, and with such genuine tenderness she had to blush even more and chance a shy smile.

Taking a deep breath, she summoned her wand, pushing him back so she could concentrate, her previous anger and discontent forgotten. She took a few moments to gather her wits, eying him speculatively in the comfortable silence that ensued. Finally, and with a inner pang that stung worse than any before, she came face to face with the indentities of the bumps her fingers had previously discovered. She didn't say anything, but her lower lip trembled and she knew that Draco had probably noticed the beck of her gaze.

"See?" he hummed quietly, almost jokingly, "This is what happens when you're not there to heal everything for me." She looked at him, a deep sort of sadness settling in her stomach as all the scars across his torso and shoulders came into clear perspective. They were small, usually an inch or two in legnth, and not noticeable unless you looked closely--from where Ginny was, she could see them vividly.

"How does this happen?" she asked, her voice none as demanding as it had been before, "Why..?" Her voice caught, stricken with tears once more for reasons unbeknownst to her.

He was reluctant to speak, his eyes laden with internal distress. "I..." he gazed at her, his eyes meaningful, "I can't _tell_ you."

Ginny didn't say a thing, because for some reason she understood, this time. There were somethings, some injustices, that could not be spoken. Maybe, if they could, he would tell her--then again, he mightn't have, but the knowledge that whatever torture he had been through was unspeakable seemed to settle in her stomach a restless peace that was, nonetheless, a type of peace. Besides, it was enough for him to have exposed himself to her in such a way that he had--she didn't even want to think about how difficult it probably was for him to be seen like this, seen weak and incapable.

Slowly, she traced a finger along a particularly jagged scar, her muse another one of those things that could not be said. He shivered beneath her touch, and she smiled slightly. "It's okay," she murmured, sighing. She closed her eyes for a moment, then shoved him away playfully. "Okay Malfoy, enough of this sentimental bullocks. Time to get down to work." He smiled again, and she grinned, trying to hide her inner turmoil, if not for her sake, then his. "Sit!" she order, rising from her perch and pushing him into his, trying to ignore the literal sparks that flew every time she touched him, "Time for the doctor to go to work!"

* * *

Draco sat very still as she leaned over her, greedily breathing in her strawberry and vanilla scent, and watching her intently as she first healed his forehead, then both his hands. He appreciated her reaction to his scars, admired her strength for having put on the 'happy act' to show him it did not bother her. He knew it did, however, he had seen the tremor in her body, felt her distress when she'd seen the scars. He'd heard the concern in her voice, the care and sadness. She couldn't hide it from him. He didn't know if she would ever be able to hide anything from him again.

Fervently, he hoped it wasn't likewise.

Draco liked his secrets, but Ginny Weasley was making it very hard to keep them. First, with that chemically charged kiss that seemed to hold so much more meaning than any other he had ever had, and now with all of this..._care_. 'What a sorceress,' he thought, feeling the embers of happiness and that deep and hollow-pitted abyss of having all the pieces of the puzzle placed together contentedness dig its way into his stomach and fill him up. She was so perfect, and so beautiful, and this feeling was so new and lovely...He didn't know what it was, but it was enjoyable and puzzling at the very same time.

She finished with a flourish and smile, "There you are Malfoy," she said, "All done."

He inspected both his hands, scrunching up his nose in mock distaste, before running a finger along his hairline to check the hail-caused wound. "Not bad, for a Weasley," he said, trying to keep his voice both joking and contemptuous, "Not very bad at all."

She looked at him in mock disbelief, "Like you could do any better!"

"You know I could," he said arrogantly, suppressing at smile at her outrage and his obvious lie.

"With your snobby Malfoy ass the only thing you could do better is grovel in the drain with an alcohol level higher than your blood pressure," she retorted hotly, before checking the time on the alarm clock. "The time's passed...it's almost ten."

Draco yawned, stifling it with his hand. "So?"

With a mischevious grin, Ginny bounced from her current location and onto the bed, the springs creaking as it rebounded her weight, sending her flying a few inches before landing back on the pillow. "Pillow talk!" she said, laughing slightly.

He gave her a puzzled look stiffly offering a disbelieving: "You're kidding."

"I am," haphazardly, she peeled the cover-blanket and two pillows off the bed, throwing them on the floor nearby. "There are your sleeping quarters, Mr. Malfoy," she said, before flopping back onto the bed and settling with her arms behind her head, "Good night."

He stared at the mess of jumbled sheets on the floor, approaching them distastefully. "Draco Malfoy, reduced to sleeping on the floor while a Weasley--girl, nonethless--snuggles into the _very_ sizeable bed," he said, amused at himself as she burst into peels of laughter. Generally, and with any one else, Draco would have felt very awkward indeed. Joking about simply wasn't in his nature--but now, with Ginny Weasley, it came almost naturally. The sound of her giggling and laughter satisfied him, somehow; it was such a pretty sound, and knowing that he had caused it seemed, to him, to be an accomplishment.

He sighed softly, and twisted his mouth to one side as she watched him from amidst her throne of pillows. "I think I saw more sheets and stuff in the closet," she stated, matter-of-factly, and he sneered stubbornly as he began to lay out the coverlet on the floor in the form of a makeshift bed. When all was smooth and wrinkle-less, he placed both pillows--after a considerable amount of punching and prepping--at the top. "Some one's a perfectionist," she commented again, almost taunting him with her obvious comfort, "And won't you be cold tonight?"

"Of course not," he said, determinedly, "I'm a Malfoy. Malfoys don't feel cold."

She almost choked on her laughter, and he couldn't help but smile himself. "Of all the things you've said tonight, that is by far the stupidest."

He cocked an eyebrow at her, before kneeling down to lay atop his masterpiece. He could only see the edge of the bed now, and he heard it creak as she moved over to a position where she could see him. He looked up, the light making his eyes fuzzy, as she came into view; red hair tumbling down the side of the bed and blue eyes twinkling childishly. "You look very comfortable down there," she said, still grinning madly. Draco made a point of placing his hands behind his head and crossing his legs leisurely. She giggled again, "Very...majestic."

He rolled his eyes. "Go to sleep Weasley," he said as she stuck her tongue out at him, "I sure as hell don't feel like hearing your endless chatter all night."

She laughed, and his mouth, despite his mental requests for otherwise, shimmied itself into a smile. Somehow, everything he said tonight seemed to be light-weight, as if he were on cloud nine without any effort or endorsement. Abruptly she took his statement to heart, still smiling she disappeared from his view, and he found himself almost wishing she hadn't. He heard her retreat to the other side of the bed and shift around a little, obviously pulling the blankets over her and settling her pillows the way she liked it.

When they were both fairly comfortable, the lights--charmed, naturally--turned off, sending them both into a moonlight and lightening-lit reality. There was silence that hung about in the air, cloaking them in the auras of sleep and awaiting it to envelope--the only sound, the thunder, rain and hail, that was so expected it became _part_ of the silence.

Then, Ginny, on a whim, decided to break it. "So Malfoy, why were you drinking today in the first place?"

Her question caught him off guard, and he struggled to find a sensible answer that wouldn't give anything away--somehow, he felt that if he told her the real reason, she would find him fickle, and today Ginny Weasley's impressions of him seemed to matter a great deal more than normal. "Leisure," he lied, hoping he sounded convincing.

He heard her shift. "You were pretty hammered...for some reason I don't think people get that drunk for leisure."

She knew. How did she know? He turned over on his makeshift bed. What should he tell her? The truth? He sighed; for some reason, he knew she would accept nothing but the truth. "You really want to know?"

He could feel her think about it, feel her contemplate losing this trust he had so heavily bestowed upon her. "Would it hurt you to tell me?"

That was a good question, one that he answered himself. "Only if you further inquired on the subject."

"I won't, promise."

Her small promise seemed to make his heart flutter wildly, though he couldn't fathom why. Maybe it was the feeling that she so respected his privacy? Maybe it was the feeling that told him she cared. He didn't know, and it didn't matter. "Well...my father owled me." The words hung in the air uncomfortably, and Draco tried not to think about what that would mean.

"Oh," she said simply, and he found himself grateful for the simplicity of her reply.

It was quiet for a moment, then she asked again, "That day in the library...why did you do that?"

He sighed, hard this time, guilt once again in his throat. It wasn't like him, but the very thought of the tears in her eyes back then seemed far more than enough for him ask, "Have you forgiven me?"

"Of course," she answered, immediately, "I couldn't hold a grudge for that long..." she hesitated, "at least, not against you."

His stomach did somersaults, his heart thumping wildly in his chest. "I didn't mean to say it, honestly. It just came out," he attempted, riled on by her previous declaration, "You made me remember something...something I didn't want to remember." It was the truth, or as close as the truth could get, he figured. He wasn't ready to tell her about his mother...he didn't know if he'd ever be ready. The woman he'd loved for so long, who had tried, though feebly and with her own tribulations, to protect him despite her concreted nature. Draco closed her eyes trying not to think about it--

Suddenly, Ginny laughed, and he felt the trail of tense-ness that had gathered in the air disappear. "Is this the equivalent of pillow talk?"

He couldn't help but laugh, too, and when he did she stopped abruptly. "Is something wrong?" he asked, trying not to show his frantic concern that he had misjudged the situation and offended her.

"No..." she said, and her voice sounded almost dreamy, "That's just the first time I've ever heard you laugh."

* * *

It was true; this was the first time she had ever heard Draco Malfoy laugh, and it wasn't exactly too much of a bad sound. In fact, she liked it. This laugh was so true, almost fickle in its innocence, and she almost felt like crying at the sound. Every other time he'd ever laughed, it had been cruel and heartless, accompanied by his wicked sneer of triumph, often at some one completely, in Ginny's mind, undeserving of the punishment. That sound had been hollow, almost forced...but this one, it was so abandoned, as if it was something he could not hold down...It was real, and filled to the brim with genuine happiness.

She still could not believe this was the same boy she had known last year. It was so unlike Malfoy, and yet it _was_ him. The smiles, however small they were, the admitted 'pillow-talk'...It seemed he did have a heart, and maybe it wasn't a very bad one after all.

After a moment, he made a noise of disbelief. "I'm sure I've laughed plenty of times before Weasley," he challenged, "You probably were just so unobservant you didn't notice."

Ginny grinned from where she was snuggled amidst her pillows and blankets. It was very warm here, and comfy..there was even a massive gap left, and though she denied it, she secretly hoped he would fill it..."As if," she countered, "There's not a girl I know who wouldn't tumble to your feet at the very instance of your laughing, like you just did."

She heard a slight chuckle from below her four-poster, where he lay on his self-made bed. "Am I really that great?" he asked, and she could almost see his eyes twinkling in her mind, "Anywho..." she heard him turn about, the carpet brushing against the fabric of his coverlet as he did, "Couldn't you get a room with two beds?"

"Well, Prince Malfoy--"

"Hey! That's more like it Weasley!"

Ginny scoffed at his remark, "_Anyways_, Malfoy; there was only one room left, and it was this one. Basically it was either leave you downstairs on a table, or drag you up here out of the goodness of my heart."

There was a moment of silence where neither spoke, then, "Well...I owe you, I guess."

She looked to the ceiling, studying it. Did she really need Malfoy indebted to her? As tempting a prospect though it was, she could not bring herself to forge those scars on his back and chest, drawn out against the paleness of his skin. "It's no problem."

He made a noise, and she wasn't sure whether or not it was one of consent or refusal, so she just left it at that. Outside the storm still raged in all its fury, battering the one window next to the bed. She peered out and all she could see was the angry sky, blackened and swirling in some unknown outrage. She found herself thinking of her family, wondering if Ron was in this motel, too, her mind crossing over whether or not he was sharing a room with Harry or Hermione, or neither. She thought about Fred and George, wondered how their little shop was doing and if they'd remembered to bring in their 'Explode on Contact With Hydration Cookies' display, which was very effective if you wanted some one's internal organs to tickle for a day. Percy...was he at home in bed, fast asleep, or still at work pouring over texts and scribbling down notes? Charlie--hiding from the water dragons in a cave, or snuggled up in a motel like she was...? And Bill--probably cozy next to Fleur, without a doubt.

And then her mum and dad, doubtlessly wrapped in each others welcoming arms, fast asleep in the otherwise empty Burrow. She thought of her eccentric father, the way he'd brought home a human cell phone just before she'd left for Hogwarts, and dialed countless numbers in utter awe. And then, her lovely mother, so caring and sweet, pondering the fate of all her children, mourning the loss of her first, in love and engaged, and hoping for a Prince Charming for the last. 'Prince Charmings...' Ginny mused, growing drowsy, 'I sometimes wonder if they exist...and if I may have accidently stumbled upon mine, that first day on the Hogwarts Express.'

Even though almost asleep at this point, she found herself intensely amused by that thought. Malfoy--Malfoy! Him, her Prince Charming. 'He's anything _but_,' she thought, 'He's rude, often snobbish and more than a prat. Then again...' She chose not to continue that thought, wrapped up in the warm, fuzzy feeling the notion of him created in her mind. What determined a Prince Charming, any way? If looks counted, she could check Malfoy in--if it were kindness...well, she wasn't too sure any more. Maybe he wasn't so much mean as sarcastic...but then again, maybe she had him all wrong, and he _was_ that bad, _was_ that cruel and heartless.

She couldn't bring herself to believe it.

The last thing she remembered before drifting off to sleep was thinking that Rosmerta must have charmed the windows not to crack, since the hail almost seemed to pelt itself at the glass, as if longing for entry to the tranquil haven within.

* * *

When the silence seemed to prevail over their tendency to talk, Draco was left alone in his own thoughts--and the revelation that Ginny _was_ right about his declaration stating that Malfoys did not feel cold; it was the stupidest thing he'd said all night. He shivered slightly as a draught caught him from beneath the bed, wishing he'd listened to her and gotten some sheets from the closet, seeing as how the coverlet served as a makeshift mattress rather than a blanket.

He sighed, the darkness pressing in around him. He grew drowsy, his head lolling about on the fluffy pillow as he subconsciously fought the sleep...He could hear Ginny's gentle breath above him, and it was comforting. For some reason he had it in his mind to take a quick glance at her, or maybe just stay up and listen to her breathe--yet the tiredness pressed in around him, and he found himself imagining things in the dark. He would see his father's sneering face, his mother's smiling face, his father's deranged eyes, his mother's limp body...

His heart hammered as he thought of it, all the beatings and humiliation--eventually he came to the worse; his fondling. The violation of his body, while he lay there helpless and paralyzed in fear and pain; still he tried to stop him, always trying to stop him...But Lucius was unstoppable, and deep down a feeling of futility grew...there was nothing Draco could do, nothing...Lucius would never stop...Draco would always be subjected to this torture...there was nothing he could do...

Why did this happen to him? Why _him_? Sure he'd done his fair share of wrong, but nothing so bad that he should be punished as such...molested, ripped from all want to be physically attached to his form. He didn't want to feel his father--his own _father_--touch him like this, fingers gripping and pulling at tender flesh, nails cruelly biting into sensitive skin.

Draco shivered, pressing his eyes shut as sleep crept up on the borders of his mind. He deserved better than this...he deserved so much better...

_Draco dreamt of the sunset, and it was a great contrast to what had lulled him to sleep in the first place. He didn't know exactly where he was, but he could feel something hard pressed against his back and he thought that maybe it was a wall or a floor, though he couldn't decide if he was upright or just staring upwards. He was conscious of his form, and he felt strangely light, as if he were floating, yet still the wall against his back told he was he grounded because he was pressed against it--of that much he was sure._

_But his position didn't really matter, because in his mind's eye the sunset bloomed vividly, that wild orb of fire visible as a semi-circle crescented against the horizon, which was a vibrant yellow. Yellow, giving way to orange and red, blending into pinks and violets until it came to the darkness that was night, millions of diamond stars dotting that silken blanket that seemed so soft and reachable from where he was. Still, the whole picture seemed twice as alive as usual, fiery and fluid, so colorful it almost hurt Draco to focuss too hard._

_And then he saw Ginny Weasley, silhouetted against the sunset, and everything seemed to be just a little bit better. The wind blew her hair towards him, fiery tendrils beckoning him to her, pink lips curved in a gorgeous smile. Her eyes glittered, blue and yellow and violet around the edges. She shone all the colors of the sunset, her beauty equally awing as the background, but each feature of the dream complimenting the other._

_Beauty, such exquisite beauty..._

Then it stopped. His eyes opened suddenly, and the storm was still raging. He twisted to glance at the clock, seeing it was barely twelve thirty in the morning. He lay there for a bit, the ground hard against his back and the object of his attention the ceiling above him. His eyes scanned the ridges, wary with sleep that was unwilling to return again...

The dream...such detail and intricacy, such perfection, all painted in his mind. Weasley, in all her splendor, the sunset ever comforting...'Maybe this is a message,' he mused, 'Maybe she's my sunset...' He toyed with the idea for a while, thought about it. It seemed so absurd, that a person could become his comfort--but then, these past few hours with her had been, respectively, the best of his life. He'd kissed her, for god's sake--not only that, but he hadn't found himself once wanting to leave her presence. He didn't know what sort of emotion this was, but it pleased him and he could only wish it would stay with him...maybe, forever?

He sat up, running fingers through his hair and looking over the top of the bed at where Ginny lay. She was a large bump, covered in blankets and surrounded by pillows, the only indication of her existence a tumble of red curls and her steady breathing. There was a lot of bed she hadn't used, and Draco found himself tempted to climb in next to her. The ground was hard against his back, and he didn't too fancy sleeping on it for the rest of the night. Slowly, trying not to wake her, he stood and mounted the bed with one knee, hesitating when it groaned protest. Swiftly, trying to avoid prolonging the noise, he shrugged in, bending to gather his pillows and coverlet, before lying back and settling himself.

The bed was comfy, if not a bit springy--but that wasn't really Draco's biggest worry. He lay there for a while, more than aware of her presence next to him, following her breathing and trying to catch a glimpse of her face from beneath the pillows. Her weight was a dent in the bed that he couldn't ignore, and though it didn't annoy him, it made him want to roll over and hold her. He was unsettled for a moment, the effort to restrain himself a bit to hard to withstand; then, he gave in. 'I kissed her after all,' he reasoned.

Slowly, he removed the pillows guarding her from view, snuggling in closer so that his chest was pressed against her back and instead continuing her pillow fortress around them both. Once finished, he gently peeled the blankets off her, slipping in behind her and relishing in the contact of her bare legs on his. Carefully, he placed one arm around her, burrowing the other beneath her so her weight rested on it. Placing his head on the pillow next to hers and finding his nose engulfed in her hair, he sighed, a bit too loudly.

The feeling that coursed through him at her closeness was simply put, undescribable. He shifted, taking deep breaths of her unique and alluring scent, closing his eyes to better sense every contour and curve of her body. He remembered having seen her naked, remembered the way her body had seemed to him so attractive, so commanding of him to lose himself in her. He could worship her, he realized--she was kind and sweet, and beautiful, and he was almost afraid because some of these feelings she made him feel were completely new and completely unknown--not to mention a little bit scary.

Gently, and the result of no thought in particular--just abrupt affection, though Draco thought otherwise-- he placed an innocent kiss on her bare shoulder, which was exposed to him as a mountain of pale, smooth skin.

He felt her wake up and move slightly at the touch, then yawn, shamelessly moving her legs back to capture one of his between her thighs, and then wrapping both her hands around his. He could almost feel her bristle with a deep, inner type of satisfaction, and that for some reason made him content. "About time, Malfoy," he heard her mutter, and he smiled into her hair, feeling inexplicably comfortable and overjoyed, in a quiet, tired way. He closed his eyes, felt her breathing settle as she fell back into the arms of sleep while consequently wrapped in his, before drifting off himself.

**Author's Note: Yes, this took a while. I originally wrote it at three in the morning, and I _was_ a bit drowsy so it turned out very...sparse XD...nevertheless I revised it (when bored), and came out with this, which is the best I feel capable of. I have the rest of the story written in my head, it'll just take a while to get the details sorted. Anywho, hope you liked this chapter, the next'll be out a little late too because my mom's birthday is on the 14th, and then me and my boyfriend are doing stuff for the rest of the week...**

**Yeah so, Read & Review!**


	10. Chapter 10

Sunsets

The first thing Ginny was aware of when she woke were Draco's arms around her. She could feel his steady breathing on the back of her neck and shoulder, and her legs were tangled with his. Realizing he was still asleep, she took her time in turning around, reluctant to break him from his slumber-induced peace. Settling her head back on the pillow, she watched him sleep, one hand placed gently on his bare chest, wary of the many scars. Again, she traced what had once been wounds--they were sparsely sprinkled over him, almost like her freckles, yet it was obvious that they had once been painful. 'And badly healed,' she thought, wondering at whose craftsmanship had left him scarred as such.

She was just going over the many scar-ridding spells she'd read about, and in the throes of deciding which would be better for this kind of work, when the room was suddenly brightened--the sun, she realized, had come out from it's hiding place behind the clouds. That meant the storm was over, and it was morning...she found herself almost dreading the departure. She didn't want to leave this room where she could be far away from the rest of the world with the only other person she seemed to recquire. Her eyes traveled from her contemplating fingers and to his face, where he was still engulfed in sleep, his eyelids fluttering only slightly.

'I wonder what he's dreaming,' she thought, watching a small smile break out on his face, just like the ones she had encountered last night. Tiny smiles, pleasant smiles, ones that held so much emotion--emotion that could not be spoken. 'Another one of those unspeakable things,' she thought, idly wondering if any one else had ever come face to face with any of Draco Malfoy's 'unspeakables'. She was content to ponder over his mysteries--why his body was so badly scarred, why he kept getting hurt; was this intentional? Was it self-inflicted? She didn't know, so she lay quietly, going over the angles in his face and thinking that she had never seen another look so at ease, so angelic...so perfect.

---------

When Draco felt the splash of color on his eyelids and consistently hot breathing on his chest, he knew it was his body's signal to wake-up--and yet, he couldn't bring himself to wrench his mind away from this dream, this wonderful dream of Ginny Weasley and sunsets. It was as if nothing gave him more pleasure, more happiness, than to spend his nights watching his two favorite things in his dreams, where they were painted simply for him and his viewage.

Still, his body persisted, and with much reluctance he dragged himself away from the beautiful picture in his head and into reality, where he was faced with something possibly even more beautiful. As soon as his eyes opened, he found himself staring into the blue, yellow-speckled orbs of Ginny Weasley, who watched him intently, almost studiously, as if she had nothing else she'd rather be doing at the moment. He was captured, he found himself almost falling into her, the depths of her eyes so endless and comforting.

"Good morning," she murmured, good naturedly, her voice quiet in greeting.

Impulsively, his lips curved upwards into a smile, and that confidence that had overtaken him last night seemed to flow through him again. Gently, he leaned down into her, using his arms as leverage to pull her forward and place his lips against hers. The kiss sent electricity spiralling throughout him, leaving a trail of comfort and familiarity in its wake. He pulled away, hesitant to break the contact, and was almost overjoyed when she followed his lips and sustained it. They stayed like that for a while, hands exploring gently, but tentative to cross any boundaries.

Finally, she pulled away, short of breath, and Draco eyed her with another smile, "Morning Weasley," he said, softly, happy with the colorful display of teeth this comment seemed to earn him, then, "I see the storm's broken."

The smile dimmed a bit, but she replied, "Yeah, we'll have to go soon." She sat up, leaving Draco disappointed at the loss of body heat this left him with. He stretched out on the bed, perfectly comfortable. Ginny surveyed the room, then said, "Rosmerta brought our clothes for us, which means we should get ready..." He was a bit startled by the look of discontent on her face, but didn't comment.

Slowly, as if wanting to prolong their stay, they both readied themselves, scrubbing their teeth and washing their faces, then dressing in their own clothes and throwing their sleep-wear down the chute. All the while, Draco felt a sincere frustration growing in his stomach--he tried numerous times to catch her eyes, but she kept avoiding his gaze, almost as if she regretted what had happened, everything that had happened...His heart seemed to drop down to his feet and drag behind as he walked--they ate breakfast downstairs at the bar, and she made sure to sit away from him. There were hardly any other students there, 'It's about damn time!' Rosmerta had commented, unsettled by how late they had risen--but Draco felt like he could not possibly hear anything out of any one's mouth...only Ginny's.

She was even more silent and withdrawn during the walk back up to Hogwarts, and Draco found that her unhappiness disturbed and affected his emotions greatly. Trying to ignore the feeling, he watched the various shops go by, reveling in the cool, late-morning's air and letting the sun wash over his face. Around them autumn seemed to burst forth, unshaken by last night's storm. Leaves dusted the cobblestone path and trees waved in the fresh air...Ginny seemed to share none of this jubilation.

Once, with the tentativeness of a new, unsure lover, Draco moved close to her, discreetly brushing his fingers against her hand, before lacing them through hers, just like he'd done that day in Potions, when she'd brought him back down to reality. She looked at him, just as unsure, frowned. Her expression sent shadows of doubt over him, and he released his grip on her loose fingers, letting her hand fall limply back to her side.

What was happening here? The same girl who had so shamelessly kissed him this morning, now shying away from his gesture of care? There was no one important around to see them, if that was what was bothering her--but somehow Draco doubted that would matter to her. Something more was troubling her, and he didn't know what.

Finally they came into sight of the castle, the gates looming close ahead. All the while her voice had been absent, as if it had not even existed--now, she found the motivation to speak, "What happens now?" The question seemed to freeze Draco in his tracks, exhilarated at the sound of her voice, but shocked by the meaning of her question. Truthfully, Draco hadn't given the situation much thought--after all, this _was_ a situation, and a very strange one. A Gryffindor and a Slytherin--worse, a Weasley and a Malfoy...Before, he'd only been thinking of...Ginny and Draco, just Ginny and Draco--but this...How were they going to deal with _this_?

He looked at her for a while, a grimace evident on his face. She stood, lingering hesitantly by his side, and he felt suddenly guilty for having bestowed all the worry upon her shoulders. 'She's been worrying all morning...' he thought, 'And I'd only been trying to delve out more happiness from her...' He twisted his mouth to one side, trying to think out the best solution. His mind crossed over Lucius, and he shivered; one of her hands snapped hurriedly out to his shoulder at the movement, stroking his arm's length comfortingly, before once again returning to her side. The touch seemed to clear his thoughts, making it easier for him to focus. A picture sailed into his head, as clear as that night's dreams...

Lucius seeing him with Ginny, seeing him happy, seeing how he lov--

_Who am I going to fuck?_

_Who am I going to fuck?_

Ginny was so beautiful...so innocent.

_WHO AM I GOING TO FUCK?_

_...her?_

"No!" he said suddenly, his heart concreting, "No!" Ginny was at his side before he could comprehend, her arms thrown reassuringly, fearlessly, around him. Slowly, regretfully, he pushed her away. She opened her mouth, hurt in her eyes, but he cut her off, "No..." he backed away from her, running a restless hand through his hair--and he saw the hurt grow, "I can't..." The concern was right there, reflected in her eyes, held fast by the tears that were quickly gathering--tears of worry, tears of rejection, tears of _not knowing_.

"Draco--Draco, are you okay?"

It was the first time she'd ever actually called him by his first name, apart from that one incident in the library...Nevertheless, the sound of his name on her lips calmed him, calmed him enough for him to say, "This can't continue," his voice seemed to catch, feeling like it didn't want to leave his throat, "I can't, can't let--"

"What can't continue?" she asked, slow tears gathering on her eyelashes, inching away from their prisons.

Draco resisted the urge to wipe them away, just like he had last night, to kiss her again, to show her that...oh god, he couldn't believe it, couldn't know for sure...

"Us," he whispered, his throat tight, "Weasley--I...We shouldn't see each other any more--shouldn't talk, shouldn't anything; it's bad, I'm..."

"_Draco_," she said his name, forcefully, despite the way she seemed so frail right now, "What is this about?"

"_Everything_!" he said, his voice growing in pitch, "_Everything_!" He paused, trying to gather his wits. He didn't know why, but this was hurting him so much, so much...He couldn't bring himself to break away from her, he couldn't...But he had to, he had to, to save her from Lucius. To protect her. He closed his eyes, and inched closer to her. Gently, he leaned towards her again, the tenderness that seemed to blossom within him when he was with her emerging. He placed his forehead against hers, watched the tears stream slightly down her cheeks.

"I don't even know why I'm crying," she said, forcing a smile through her tears, "I don't even know why this matters..."

He knew--at least, he fancied he did.

Three words, three words spun in his head, but he couldn't get his mouth to say them. He realized that he shouldn't say them, that saying them would just make it harder for him--for them both. Instead, he whispered, pressing his nose lightly against hers as his hands found her hair, "Someday...someday, I'll show you everything. I'll find a way. If that day is tomorrow, then so be it--if a lifetime from now, then so be that. But when I find a way, then you'll understand." He closed his eyes, imagining her face on the back of his eyelids, surrounded by the sunset. The sunset was only for her, he realized, it bloomed only for Ginny Weasley. His heart, likewise, was only for Ginny Weasley.

Gathering his wits, he pushed her away, brushing away tears he hadn't even known were there. Sadly, and with too many burdens once again restored to his shoulders, he walked away, leaving her standing at the gates of Hogwarts, alone and confused.

---------

Ginny hadn't known that parting from him would be so painful...she'd thought that maybe they'd have to keep their relationship a secret for a while, not see each other, touch each other, in public...but she hadn't thought it would end completely. She didn't want it to have to end; she realized she didn't want anything more than to wake up next to Malfoy every morning, watch him sleep and then kiss him without fear or guilt or anything...! She wanted to be _with_ him, even though it seemed she knew nothing about him. What she thought she'd known was rapidly turning out to be wrong, and what she wanted to know he couldn't tell her...He was a mystery by himself, but a mystery that was quickly engulfing her in its many folds--and for some reason, she felt like she was closer to the heart of it all than any one else.

Once she'd climbed back up to her Dormitory, she sat on her bed, the tears already dried on her cheeks. She didn't know what to think about all of this. She'd spent a night--_just_ a _night_ with Draco Malfoy, and she felt as if he were her whole world, as if he'd _always_ been her whole world. Frowning, she lay back, looking up at the ceiling, wondering how she'd let him enchant her like this. First it had been the need to help him, to know what was wrong--now it seemed to be so much more. _So much more_.

'Malfoy, you pig...' she thought, idly twisting her fingers about on her stomach, 'I think I'm in love with you.'

"Gin?"

It was Helen, and Ginny found she didn't even want to talk to her best friend right now. "Yeah?"

"You spent the night with Malfoy?"

Ginny was a bit startled at her friend's knowledge, sitting up in her bed to peer at the girl who was strung over another. Helen's comforting cherub face seemed to radiate kindness, and a bland kind of curiousity..."Yes," Ginny said simply.

"Okay."

And that was that.

---------

Ginny couldn't sleep that night, instead laying sprawled out on her bed, eyes dazed with exhaustion but mind and body at odds with eachother. Her body wanted so much to feel the warmth of another--even the prospect would have been fine, but in her mind lingered the knowledge that Draco didn't want her. Why didn't he want her? What had she done wrong? She twisted, turning over, remembering so affectionately the feeling of him next to her, wrapped around her body, melding into her very soul...

She turned again, the thoughts running rampant, the sadness threatening to spill out in tears and sobs and screams...One night--one night! Sure, she'd thought him attractive before, way before any of this had ever happened...but then she'd still had the notion of him being a complete git to hold on to. Now, now something in him had changed, and her whole life seemed to have been turned upside down because of it.

Fed-up, she sat up, swinging her feet over the bed and onto the ground. Wiggling her toes, she bowed her head, contemplating what she should do...That day on the Hogwarts Express...that had all started it. If only she could go back in time and erase it all, control that naive compulsion to help him that first day that now seemed so long ago...Then the kiss, the kiss that seemed so close, so close it seemed she could almost feel it, lingering on her lips...She remembered the library incident, that had haunted her for so long, eaten away at her simply because he'd refused her help...

'Why did I help him?' she asked herself, and it seemed to be a question her mind had become brutally familiar with.

It was just...just that look in his eyes every time she did something for him, that look that told her it _meant_ something to him, the way she cared--that told her he felt a sort of satisfaction because of _her_. And yet, it was such an innocent look, those steely eyes reflected an almost childlike wonder that some one like _her_ would help some one like _him_. She had even seen it last night, after she'd healed his wounds--the look of awe as he'd peered up at her, the look of quiet appreciation.

She liked that appreciation, but more than anything she liked him...

'I can't believe I'm in bloody love with Malfoy, of all people!' she thought, trying to make it sound casual...she knew it wasn't casual, though--she knew it was so much more than what she made it out to be. God damnit, she was _in love_ with bloody _Malfoy_. She remember briefly the conversation with her mother the morning before she'd left for Hogwarts;

_"But, Ginny, darling, have you found him yet?"_

_"Him?"_

_"Yes, him--the man of your dreams, the one who completes you, the soul mate, the husband..."_

Feeling the tears well up, a profound feeling of guilt came with it.

_'... and by the way, how's your search for Prince Charming? I expect a full page of detailed occurences and descriptions of any boy you may have your eye on...'_

Smiling a bit, she forced back down the tears. Now wasn't the time for crying--after all, that would only make it worse. Instead, she tiptoed gently up, walking over to the desk and pulling out a parchment and quille. Slowly, as if every movement mattered, she dipped the point into the open ink pot, then blotted it on her hand before lowering it to the page. 'I can't give you a full page, Mum,' she thought, 'But at least I can give you something.'

_Mum,_

_I found him; now I know for sure. It's the same boy I mentioned in the last letter...and he's the same boy I can never have. I don't think you and Pa would approve, either--Ron would bust a vein, that's for sure._

_Nothing more to say,_

_Ginny._

She rolled the letter up, placing it under her pillow and promising herself she would owl it in the morning.

---------

Ginny's day passed so quickly, she was hardly even aware of it. She vaguely remembered Helen asking her what was wrong, Lavendar and Parvati asking her where she'd disappeared to on Saturday, and Hermione giving her concerned stares--she vaguely remembered giving them puzzled looks, before stalking silently off. Truth was, her whole day seemed off balance, her very existence depending on either one of two ocurrences; Malfoy coming up to her and taking back everything he'd said the day before, or a letter from her mother.

It was the letter that saved her, an owl swooping in at a particularly untimely place, at exactly the wrong time. Due to the impromptu delivery, all eyes were on Ginny as she opened the letter at Dinner that evening, including the silver-grey ones that had been avoiding her all day. The hall almost seemed to quiet for her sake, and Ginny could feel with such distinction Malfoy's gaze that she had to brace herself before opening the letter. Resting it against her lap and leaning over to hide it from prying eyes, she read:

_Gin,_

_You mean the boy who had less than a sentence written about him that last quarter of a quarter of a quarter page letter?_

She couldn't help but smile a bit at her mother's attempt at light-heartedness, though was dispirited once she glanced up and saw Malfoy was no longer watching her. His gaze made her feel...comfortable, if not saddened.

_Anyhow--what's all this nonsense about 'the same boy I can never have'? I don't want to hear a thing about it, and honey, I will approve (and **make** your father approve) of any boy you truly love; besides, who cares what Ron thinks? He's your **brother** for god's sake, not the Almighty Judger of Man._

_'The same boy I can never have'...what happened to **my** Ginny--the one who faced the likes of Percy and Ron Weasley **all** her life! The same girl who sat for a whole day without saying a word, just because Fred wouldn't let you have a ride on his broomstick? Have you really changed so much, that not even your own mother can recognize you? This must be one hell of a boy to have you thinking like this--but if you really love him, don't send me letters at five in the morning saying he's 'the same boy I can never have'. You make it sound like such a muggle romance novel._

_When me and your father were at school, we faced trial and tribulation, as well. You don't think I had to fight for what I wanted, for the life I wanted, for the man I wanted? So don't you ever say something--or even think something--that ridiculous ever again, Miss Ginevra Molly Weasley! Don't be afraid of love, or even of broken hearts. It's better to have loved and lost than to never have loved at all--and don't you call withering on the sidelines love._

_Go get'em Gin!_

_Mum._

She was crying by the time she'd finished, and all the others in close proximity to her were staring in shocked silence. Sniffling, she looked up at them, realizing that they had been eying her, bewildered, the whole time. Unsettled, she glanced over to Malfoy, and was jolted back into reality when she saw him watching her again, a look of concern hidden in his eyes, though his expression was passive.

"Ginny...are you alright?" it was Hermione, and the girl's voice seemed to ring Ginny back into her body and not just as some puzzled and shaken bystander watching from afar.

"I'm fine," she muttered, wiping her tears and rising from the table, holding the letter in her hand. Swiftly, in an attempt to dodge further questioning, she exited the hall, heading straight into nowhere. Nowhere, because she needed to be alone. She didn't want to be seen by anybody, heard or even spoken to--she needed time to think, to ask herself all the whys and the whats, the whoms and the wheres.

When finally she found a gloomy corner to curl up in, she held the letter against her knees, reading it again and again.

_It's better to have loved and lost, than to never have loved at all.._

The same words Helen had said to her, the same words that had brought her to a teary conclusion, but one that she couldn't seem to remember right now..._It's better to have loved and lost, than to never have loved at all...Have you really changed so much, that not even your own mother can recognize you? _So many words spun in her head, they jumbled up and mixed into each other, in the end forming only four, only four that rang out so clearly among the chaotic, unified mass.

_I love Draco Malfoy_.

"I love him," she said out loud, as if testing the words on her lips, "I love him, and I can't believe it."

How could it have taken her so long to realize? All these years he'd been right in front of her, right there, and she'd never even suspected.

Draco Malfoy was her Prince Charming...and he didn't even know it.

**Author's Note: Another chapter done...I can't believe it, I'm so close to the end of this fic! I already have the plot for several more multi-chappy fics in my head, and I have one I like that'll 'debut' soon after the last chapter of Sunsets...Anywho, hope you guys liked this chappy, read and review!**


	11. Chapter 11

Sunsets

Draco swore he'd almost died when he'd seen the tears in Ginny Weasley's eyes--forgetting all precaution he'd stared over to the Gryffindor table, cursing whomever had written that letter, and wondering, slightly perturbed, if it had had anything to do with him. He still remembered, too vividly, the crystalline tears that had shone in her eyes the day before, and wished beyond all reason that he could show her why he'd made the decision that he had. Maybe she'd understand then, but still he couldn't bring himself to speak his troubles aloud--it simply was not in him, and though it nagged him that he could not help her, he found himself equally helpless.

How could he tell her what had happened to him, with the knowledge that she would forever look at him differently? How could he _tell_ her? Even if he showed her, he knew the result would probably be the same, yet showing her was a risk he was willing to take when the oppurtunity arose. He just couldn't tell her, watch the expression on her face change from concern to disgust, to disgusted sympathy, a type of piteous haste to be rid of something that was dirty. He couldn't be near her when she found out, couldn't be facing her when it all unravelled.

He shuddered, his heart clenching when she hurriedly wandered away from the Great Hall, her destination unknown to, it seemed, even herself. On her face was plastered a look of fake mildness, when he could see, even from this distance, the emotions boiling over under the surface. He wondered, vaguely, why no one else from the table followed her, and then used every ounce of concentration to restrain himself from bolting out the hall after her.

He shut his eyes, forcing down the groan of agony that rose in his throat. He wanted to comfort her in his awkward way, wanted to tell her not to cry, even if it meant a few sarcastic remarks to make her more angry than sad. She could be angry at him, she could want to wring his neck, if only she wouldn't cry. Clenching his fists beneath the table, he told himself it was all for the better. If he broke away from her, and she from him, it would benefit them both. Then, he would be able to stop experiencing these feelings, these feelings that made him open to Lucius's punishments, these feelings that were because of her--then, he wouldn't be so gullible. There would be no more guilt, no more sadness or fury or whatever it was he had been feeling lately. Once there was no more Ginny, there would be no more of these things.

As for her, she would be far better off without him, as well. She wouldn't have to worry, wouldn't have to waste her energy or time on him, useless, pathetic and dirty him. She would be able to find a nice boy, a sensible one who wouldn't be able to cause her any harm, directly or indirectly. A boy who could make her happy, who could love her without inhibitions and secrets and all the flaws Draco found he had developed.

It made the bile rise it his throat, but he actually thought that she would be better off with some one like Potter, Harry stinking Potter.

Opening his eyes again, he forced himself to finish his dinner.

---------

The next day passed in an anguished sort of silence for Draco, filled with thoughts of Ginny that he couldn't seem to push out of his head. He didn't know why she haunted him like this, he didn't know why she made his whole heart heavy. He didn't know why he felt the urge to kiss her like a mad man every time they passed in the hallways. Nevertheless, he made sure to avert his gaze, never daring to look at more than her gruffy old shoes and wonder in a shocked sort of disbelief if he'd ever get to kiss her little toes...

That was what his thoughts of her were like--gentle, delicate thoughts that accentuated the finer points of life, the simpler pleasures. For Draco, he found these thoughts almost consoling, small wafts of affection like the emotion that had compelled him to kiss her shoulder that night. Small wafts of affection that made him realize why he should have said those three words that day, small wafts of affection that made him realize how _true_ those three words were.

He kept trying to deny it, to push it away, but he had already acknowledged that it was a truth, a truth he would never tell her, another one of those unspeakable things. If he told her, that would somehow make it _real_, as if the way it was in his head, floating around randomly, it could still be ignored, shoved away as a lie.

That night he dreamt that wonderful dream again, with Ginny Weasley and the sunset--that night he smiled in his sleep, before he woke himself up with a jolt, unwilling to let himself succumb to any emotion having to do with her. He blinked, and blinked again, but the picture seemed to be emblazoned on the back of his eyes, so that the only thing he could see was her and the sunset.

Ginny Weasley...and the sunset...

He didn't sleep again that night.

The next day, he dreaded stepping into the Potions classroom. It meant being enclosed in a small, quiet space with his yearmates and _her_. He didn't know what he was going to do--the Potions room held so many memories of being with her, sitting with her, holding her hand. He could still feel the tense atmosphere that had existed between them, still feel the sting of her words that day he'd angered her. He could remember _everything_, and none of them seemed very pleasant to this mindset right now.

Sheepishly, he came in late, hoping that she'd come in early and gotten a seat away from the one where he usually placed himself. Clenching his fists in both disappointment and gratitude, he took his usual place, now seated next to Blaise Zabini, and watched her tumble of red curls two rows ahead of him. 'Weasley...Weasley...' he thought, nails grating the table, 'Weasley...I wish I could _show_ you...I wish I could let you know _everything_.' Subdued with his numerous and collective thoughts of her, he worked diligently during class, not even realizing until dinner that the answer to what he wanted to show her was right in front of him, simmering a healthy, but unfinished aqua.

---------

He'd skidded out of the Great Hall that evening, heading straight for the library and cursing himself for not having thought of this earlier. 'Cattivo Ricodare,' he thought, profusely satisfied with his discovery, though a bit pinched that it had taken him so long to think of it, 'That's how I can show her...It's shows a person's worse nightmare, a situation that has scarred them considerably...' He trailed off on that thought, not wanting to delve more into something he already knew was the '_it'_ he'd been searching for. This would show her! He would be able to keep his promise and show her, and maybe after that it would give him some peace.

But of course there were more pressing matters to think about...What if Snape saw what his father had done? _Would_ Snape go that far into grading the potions, as to actually experience them, too? Swearing, Draco pressed his forehead against the pages of a book he'd opened, under the pretense of studying something important. He decided that it was not worth the risk--he did not want Snape's sympathy if the man saw his nightmare; he did not want any one's sympathy, and he did not need any one to know his shame. Only Ginny Weasley could know, because he trusted her, he decided, he knew he trusted her, and he knew she would not do anything that might make matters worse. 'Only I can make matters worse,' he mused bitterly, a plan formulating in his mind, 'Only me...'

That night, he revised his plan of action--it was known that in order to show Ginny what he wanted her to know, he would have to brew the Potion correctly; that was no problem, no problem at all. The only thing was that he would have to brew it an extra day earlier than when it was due, steal one of Snape's grading vials and discreetly store some of the Potion in it. It sounded simple enough, but here was the hard part: the ingredient he needed to configure the Potion afterward into a brew similar but not the same, was extraordinarily rare. He didn't even know if it would be in Snape's cupboards, and if it wasn't he would have to purposefully screw up the remnants of the potion.

He groaned...his _Potions_ mark would decrease by lump-sum measures, he was more than sure; after all, this was the _first_ Potions assignment of the year, and whomever couldn't complete it correctly definitely shouldn't have passed into the class. He turned over onto his stomach, pressing his face into the pillow and inhaling deeply. It would have to do--getting a bit of the good stuff for Ginny wouldn't be hard at all, but if he couldn't change the remaining 'good stuff' into 'bad stuff', he would just have to endure extra-curricular activity for the rest of the year to bring up his mark.

'What does it matter, any how?' he thought, 'My life isn't going to get any better...'...without Ginny. It was there, in his head, but he couldn't even bring himself to _think_ it. His life wasn't going to get any better without Ginny--without Ginny, he didn't even have a reason to be happy. Without Ginny, he didn't even have a reason to live. She was his hope, his dreams, everything he'd ever needed--apart from the sunset. But now, he couldn't even call that salvation any longer, simply because it's very presence reminded him of _her_.

He rolled over again, thinking of that blissful kiss, and how happy it had left him that night. He thought of snuggling up next to her on the bed, how warm and comfortable he'd felt, how perfectly at home it had been--as long as he was with her. He thought of how much she'd tried to help him, how much she'd wasted her time on him, and he wondered if simply showing her why he couldn't love her the way he should be able to would be enough to repay her kindness and caring.

'Will it be enough?' he asked himself, 'Will it lift this weight on my shoulders? Will it make her _understand_?'

Maybe if his mother was still alive he could be with her, but he realized how selfish that would be. His mother's happiness for his--it was not a worthy trade. At least his mother had escaped, at least she could no longer be hurt; that notion, though painful, had him worried about one less thing. He had thought about going that way himself, too many times to count, thought about leaving his father to join his mother, wherever she was, so that the two of them could have their happily ever afters. But he knew that now, after all of this with Ginny, he would never be able to have his happily ever after, unless it was with her. He could leave this world and join his mother, but he would never be at peace, simply because he knew she would still be here...without him.

'Maybe this will always be my life,' he thought, saddened by the prospect, but equally accepting, 'Longing for something that I can't have...longing for something that I could only bring anguish to.'

He grew tired, but still his thoughts lingered on her. Maybe if his father died, he could learn to make her happy. Maybe if his father died, he could crawl back to her and beg forgiveness and pardon, and shout out to the whole world how much he loved her. He could marry her once they left school, and they could live somewhere far away with only eachother for company. He smiled at the thought, even though he knew in his heart it would never happen.

'Ginny Weasley...' he thought, 'Beautiful, kind, caring, brave, sweet, intelligent...and not _mine_.' Maybe if he wasn't _Draco Malfoy_ it would be easier. Maybe if he ran away and abandonned his whole identity she would be his, someday. Maybe, maybe, maybe...

He fell into a fitful sleep, at first, plagued with too many maybes...eventually, though, he found himself yet again engulfed in the sweet throes of what was quickly becoming his favorite dream. He was so tired, he couldn't bring himself to wrench away, couldn't bring himself to not smile and clench the coverlets in subconscious ecstasy...He was disappointed, but satisfied in a small way. He'd found a way to show her why he couldn't be with her. He didn't care if, after that, he died or suffered for the rest of his life: he knew she mightn't accept him, he knew...but he also knew it would bring him a bit closer to accepting himself.

---------

He toiled tediously the next day, all the while wondering how on earth he was going to get his hands on that one ingredient and use it discreetly--and correctly--enough so that Snape would have no idea. He sat all through Charms, his mind filled with fleeting glances of Ginny, then the more grim prospects of getting caught stealing from Snape's closet...He faced a long, long term of detention, and if that long, long term of detention extended to beyond the due date of the Cattivo Ricodare potion, it would mean not fulfilling his promise to Ginny, and Snape seeing _everything_.

'Well,' he thought decidedly, 'If Weasley doesn't see this Potion, and even if she does, I'm not letting any one else get their hands on it.' He already knew exactly how far he would go to keep his secret unseen. Nothing mattered to him any more, nothing except Ginny. Ginny was his only reason, his only reason for anything.

He bided his time, sitting silently at lunch that day, not remembering to eat anything. He stared down at his plate, which he'd sparsely furnished with a few slices of roast beef and some bitter brussel sprouts that he wouldn't have eaten anyway. His head was in his hand as he analyzed the situation yet again. The assignment was due a week from tomorrow, and since tomorrow was Friday, Draco had the whole weekend to attempt his little theft. It would take skill, and probably that damned Invisibility Cloak he'd gotten for his thirteenth birthday, but he was more that sure he could do it. Then, Snape would undoubtedly throw a fit, and Draco ackowledged the fact that he'd have to keep his little bundle of prize hidden for a whole school week. Which would be difficult, yes, but he was sure he could do that, too.

The only thing he'd have to measure was the progress of the Potion. He would have to add it right after the powdered Fairy Wings, which would be the last essential ingredient to go in on the last working hour Friday. He tapped his foot under the table. If it was to work right, he had to have at least a five millilitres of the stuff, liquified, and it would have to be stirred in approximately a minute after the Fairy Wings. He had no idea how to tell if it had worked, all he knew was that it had to, for his sake.

He was playing a game of luck, and he knew his luck had treated him very badly in the past.

He finished the rest of the day's work with a bored flourish, not really bothering to pay much attention. He was trying not to be impatient, but he knew that it was not in his nature to wait very long for things. He was flighty, alert at every sound apart from a Professor's voice, and kept feeling like he should be _doing_ something. 'It's almost as if I'm procrastinating,' he mused as he picked at his dinner, 'Even though I can't do anything until Saturday night, earliest.'

That night he finished his homework remarkably fast, or so he thought. It might have just been the fact that his mind was elsewhere as his body worked, scribbling a five metre essay for Transfiguration, reading around twenty-five pages for Charms, so on and so forth...He was already on the subject of Ginny, a bit mentally exhausted after all his non-verbal calculations, when she walked out of the Study Hall, brushing against his back with her smooth, lithe hands, giving him a waft of her sweet scent...

He shut his eyes tight. It had been their first contact today, and it sent him over the edge with a type of regretful happiness. He _could_ have had that every day of his life, he _could_ have had _her_. 'I ended it,' he told himself, 'I told her I couldn't be with her.' He knew it in his heart, though it ached him to think it. 'Besides,' the more rambuctious and debasing side of him intervened, 'She probably wouldn't want you, any way. You're a _Malfoy_, she's a _Weasley_. You've tormented her family for years and years...'

_But I love her_.

He couldn't think any more, just picked up all his things, fighting the cracking feeling in his chest, as if something were breaking, and rushed out of the Hall towards the Slytherin Dorms.

He couldn't think any more, but that night he would dream, as he always did.

---------

Ginny smiled a bit as she threw herself atop her bed, feeling it sink with her weight and all the coverlets wrap around her. She'd had to do it, she'd needed to feel him again. Even if it had been for such a brief moment, she'd had to do it. She didn't know if she could go on without him for much longer, go on without the feel of his sweetly warm body next to hers, without the pressure of his chest against her back as she slept. She wanted his genuine kisses, wanted his hands drawing little circles on her back as their tongues duelled, wanted to run her fingers through his hair.

And then, away from all of this, she wanted _him_. To speak to him again, hear his voice, joke with him, hear him laugh and see him smile. She wanted to love him, and know if he loved her too--heck, even if he didn't, she wanted him nonetheless.

She remembered back to her mother's letter, and twisted her mouth a bit. She'd told herself she was going to go get him, just like her mother had encouraged, but she'd not gotten around to it. 'Oh, I have all year,' she told herself, comfortingly, even though her conscience still stung from her mother's faith-filled words. Molly Weasley knew her daughter so well, and now her daughter was reconsidering how well Molly Weasley knew her, after all. 'Am I really so courageous, Mum?' she asked herself, hoping that her mother could hear her back in the Burrow, 'Am I really so bold, so fearless?'

She told herself she was, and so the next day she came in late, hoping to sit next to the young Malfoy, only to find he'd moved away from his usual seat. Snape gave her a disaproving glance, taking away five points from Gryffindor for tardiness, and then ordering her to sit next to Neville Longbottom, who was at the only available place. She grimaced , eyeing his silver-blonde head that was the closest to Snape's desk that it had ever been. He'd purposely avoided her, and now she didn't have an excuse to talk to him!

She grit her teeth all through the lesson, hoping that at least he'd glance back at her--but he did no such thing. Instead, he was fully engulfed in his Potion, studying it minutely and adding very little ingredients. It was almost as if he didn't want to finish it early.

'Cattivo Ricodare,' she thought, 'What an _awful_ potion.' She glared meaningfully at Snape, who was rather wrapped up in some scratch on his desk, thinking that he had done this to purposely torment them all. Everybody knew what Ginny's potion would show; the Chamber of Secrets incident. Did she even have to _make_ the damned thing when everybody already _knew_?

Rolling her eyes, she continued to restlessly stir her potion, wary of Neville's. The brew had begun to bubble up and pop--she found whenever the liquid touched her skin it stung horribly, and so was inclined to venture a bit farther away from him.

By the end of class his cauldron had exploded, Ginny only barely managing to save her almost-finished assignment and jump atop the safe haven of another table. The acidy yellow substance burned through the stone floor and the soles of Snape's shoes, getting Neville a prompt detention and fifty points from Gryffindor.

---------

When Draco snuck into Snape's office that Saturday night, Invisibility Cloak shrouding him comfortably from prying eyes, he told himself to take deep breaths, that he might as well do this since it was for the better. He was wary to caution himself; every step could mean another spell triggered to alert the currently absent Snape of his presence--if he was found, the whole plan was doomed.

He began to become nervous, studying with growing intensity the pattern of the stone floor as he trodded silently along it. 'Ginny, Ginny, Ginny,' he found himself thinking, saying her name as if it were a mantra, one that would keep him safe from the danger he had stepped into. After five minutes of making his way across the empty, grossly furnished room, he reached the cabinet, at first simply tugging it to see if it opened. It did not, and he almost panicked before he realized it was probably charmed.

"Alohomora," he murmured, his wand hovering over the doors. It did not open, so, frowning, he began a mental review of all the 'Opening' spells and charms he'd learnt, both in school and out of it. It opened on his tenth try, to a spell that could only be classified as one of the Dark Arts. Draco would probably never admit to it, but he'd spent a good few free hours locked away in the Malfoy library, trying out new spells and learning them. Thankfully, that seemed to be a place Lucius never ventured.

It creaked slightly as he drew the doors apart, pausing momentarily to see if any one had heard. He glanced around, saw no one was at the door, then turned back, his eyes greeted with a oasis of various sparkling ingredients. There were some that looked bloody, some that squirmed in their bottles, and others that seemed harmless, beautiful almost, but that Draco knew were deadly poisonous. He surveyed the shelves, hoping against hope he'd find the ingredient that he needed...

Casting a small hovering charm, he floated up to the top shelf, tucking his feet in to hide them among the folds of Invisibility Cloak. His eyes scanned, praying, praying that it would be there, praying, praying...His heart was sinking, he had seen it on none of the other shelves, and he needed it _so badly_.

'It's not there, Ginny,' he found himself thinking as he neared the end of the top shelf, 'It's not there and I'm--'

"Looking for something, Mr. Malfoy?" he found his cloak wrenched off him, and there he was, pulled around to face his stony-faced Potions Professor while hovering about five feet in the air. He gaped, seeing the ingredient he needed in particular held between two spidery fingers, his Cloak in the other hand. There it was, the very thing that had given him so much woe, powdered Acromantula Leg, sitting contently in a glass vial.

Slowly, he lowered himself to the ground, his eyes still wide at his discovery. "Sir how--?"

Draco almost fancied he saw the man roll his eyes, an almost exasperated look on his face. "Here," he said, his voice icy as ever, pushing the vial and the Cloak towards his young student, "But please know that I will be marking you harder than the other students. If you do manage to use it correctly, then you will gain bonus marks. If not, you'll be deported to a lower class, simply because you had both the nerve to attempt to steal it and then use it incorrectly. Go."

Draco had no time for 'thank you's, or to contemplate consequences. Hastily, as if he were afraid the man would soon change his mind, he took the ingredient and his Cloak back, slipping the Cloak back on and hurrying away to the Slytherin Dorms.

**Author's Note: This chapter was a little...let's say, on the 'low down' side. Not all that fizzy ;-). The next chapter will hopefully make up for that! **

**Okay, thank you to every one whose reviewing, and...KEEP ON REVIEWING! XD**


	12. Chapter 12

Sunsets

By Wednesday, Draco was more than sure he was going mad. Every night he would tumble into his bed, exhausted if not deprived, every night he would fall asleep...and every night he would dream of Ginny Weasley and the damn sunset. He didn't know what it was, but he seemed to be drawn to it on an uncanny level--it ate at him, yet it was so soothing. The colors, the vibrancy; Draco had even found that he could smell her, smell Ginny Weasley's vanilla and strawberry scent, set back on the fragrance of fresh air as it whipped back her glorious mane...

His fingers would itch in dreams like these, itch with the want to slide through her hair and across her flawless skin, over top her lips and the swells of her breasts...Often times he'd wake to find his hands clutching with brute desperation his sheets, sweat soaking through to the mattress. There was nothing directly erotic about this, about Ginny Weasley and the sunset, but there _was_ something hidden, something beautifully sensual and suave, something that called him back again and again.

He would hold his forehead in his hands, his breath only just calming, and pray, pray that after he'd shown her he'd be able to forget. If he didn't...if he couldn't...he would go _insane_. It became almost like a fantasy during the days; when bored he would think of her, think of that beautiful image burnt into the back of his eyelids, the one that haunted him every time he blinked...such a fiery scene, that suited her so well--she was so beautiful, so everything. And the sunset...

Wednesday evening he found himself skipping dinner, sitting precariously on the massive ledge of the Astronomy Tower window, staring out into that beautiful sunset that had captivated him so completely when he was younger. Now, now it only brought pangs of pain into his chest, and he wondered if he'd ever be able to see it the way he had before, if it would ever be his comfort again. All because of Ginny Weasley, all because of her--he didn't even have something consoling to fall back on, something to make him feel better about himself, about the world...

Something was bothering him, something not quite tangible that ate at the back of his mind, that made him want to punch something so very hard. A type of frustrated desperation, almost, a desperation that called for him to have her again; to see this image that had haunted him for so long, except in real. He wanted her in so many more ways than one; sometimes when not completely drowning in the vision of her and the sunset together, he would find himself thinking back to the time when he'd seen her naked...

Of course, he would snatch himself away from thoughts like those; he may as well not get his hopes up, or even make it a fantasy. As the year progressed he found the embers of normalcy returning, though not a normalcy that he was used to. In a way, he would always remain different because of the things his father had done--this summer had been by far the most traumatizing of his life; but with Ginny Weasley as a distraction, he was beginning to almost forget all of that. He found himself feeling more and more he had before, at times even letting a small smirk out at the misfortunes of those he disliked--Ginny Weasley haunted him, and though her haunt was unpleasant, it allowed him to feel a bit more like a heartbroken teenager, and less like the molested son of a deranged Malfoy.

The sunset slowly disappeared over the horizon, and he sighed, almost wishing it back again. It was so peaceful when it was just him and the sunset...he wondered what it would be like if Ginny Weasley was there, too. Would she blend in with the background, while still standing out, a fine portrait displaced as the two came to life around each other...? Would it be as beautiful as it was in his dreams? Maybe, just maybe if he could see her once, see her once with the type of beauty she was meant for, then the dreams would stop coming, the charred bits in his mind stop flickering.

Maybe...

That night he made sure he'd found a quiet, unobtrusive classroom to perform the liquification of the Acromantula leg. It had taken him hours in the library on Sunday to figure out how exactly you could liquifiy powdered Acromantula leg, and when he'd finally found the solution, it'd been like a stone on his heart. 'More blood, more wounds...'...The best way, and by far the easiest, was to place half a 2-inch vial full of the powder into a separate container, and give the blood of the person whose nightmare was to be concealed. He was supposed to use the amount of blood he wanted the overrall liquified state of the leg to be--in this case, five millilitres, plus four more to completely liquifiy the powder. It wasn't much, but all the while he slid the conjured blade against his forefinger, he thought of Ginny's gentle ministrations to heal the very wounds she'd so worried about. Here he was giving her more to worry.

One inch of powdered Acromantula leg was set aside in a small vial, and Draco pressed his finger to the opening of yet another vial, this one with small scale marks on the side. He watched the blood drop from his finger, counting in his mind as it filled...'Two...Four...Five...Seven...Nine...' Yanking his finger away, he placed the dripping wound in his mouth, sucking on it as he carefully uncapped the lid on the vial containing the powder. Using both hands, he poured his blood into the other vial, capping it then shaking it as it fizzed.

Making a mental note to return the remainder of the powder to Snape, he watched the concotion turn a deep black, squinting in wonder as it swirled off its own accord. 'Oh lord,' was all he could think to himself, gathering his things before slowly trudging back up to his Dorm.

---------

That Friday, after stealing very discreetly one of Snape's grading vials, he unobtrusively dipped it into his pewter cauldron, gathering some of the swirling concoction. He'd only just added the Fairy Wings, so the Potion was excessively potent--soon, it would be time for him to mix in the liquified Acromantula leg. Capping the stormy blue liquid inside, he slipped it into his pocket, removing the vial that contained his last ingredient. Throwing it in, he let the brew sputter and spit for a moment, then stirred it hopefully. The stormy blue eventually lessened to a darker color, as if now it toned to the black contents that had just been added.

'Now I just have to check if it works,' he found his heart hammering in his chest, disturbed at the thought of having to relive the horror that had been done to him. Clearing his throat a bit apprehensively, he leaned in over the Potion, gently murmuring, "Cattivius Ricodara."

The sensation was indescribable, as if he had been wrenched from his body and was now part of the swirling contents of the Potion. Disembodied and unable to fight the current, he found himself thrown downwards, drowning in his own brew. Finally, his feet seemed stable, his knees jolted back into supportive action. Blinking, he looked around, recognizing the Malfoy Manor, and himself and his father. His father was very reassuringly petting him on the shoulder, merely reprimanding him for something done wrong; his mother standing by smiling in a way he knew she never would. He remembered having a thought vaguely similar to this, years ago, when he was still young and naive enough to believe it would someday happen.

The scene went on, skipping through numerous ocassions of friendly scolding, the look of fatherly affection on Lucius's face making Draco sick to the stomach. Deciding he'd had enough, and that the Potion had worked to his satisfaction, he repeated his previous words and found himself wrenched upwards and back into brutal reality.

After giving in a vial filled with his completed potion, Draco found himself excused the rest of the class, to sit there and clean up his workspace. Rinsing out his cauldron, he felt the cold tinkle of the vial still in his pocket, capped and ready to be given to Ginny Weasley. His mind began to work, wondering when and where he could get her alone so as to give this to her...that, and his goodbye.

'Perfect,' he thought, as he took his seat again, waiting for class to end. He glanced back at her, his skin tingling as he took in her disheveled, though apparently content, look. She stared satisfactorily down at her Potion, one that was evidently completed. He knew exactly where he could get her alone...and he knew the perfect time, as well. It was the time that would fulfill one of his fickle longings, and one that would hopefully give him the courage to truly end his fixation with her.

Ripping out a small piece of parchment, he scribbled down,

_Meet me at the Astronomy Tower this evening during dinner. _

_Draco._

---------

Ginny's heart had skipped a beat when the small piece of parchment had floated down onto the table, still caught up in the whirling scent of Malfoy as he whipped past her table and out the door. Her fingers had snatched it away before any passerbys could notice it, stuffing it into her breast pocket before picking up her already packed bag and following the stream of students into the hallway.

She had to admit it, though she told herself otherwise--she'd been avoiding him. Her mother had said to go and get him, but all she'd been doing was sitting and staring. 'I have all year,' was what she would always think, though in her heart it nagged her that she could not muster up her courage, and conquer just this dilemna. 'Of all the things I couldn't do...' she thought, perturbed, 'Of all the tests I couldn't past--why did _this_ have to be one of them?' The idea was scary to her, having to face him and pour her heart out, having to somehow convince him to come back.

She wanted him, wanted him beyond anything she'd ever wanted--but she wanted him in a way she continually tried to suppress, sometimes even going back to her original excuse, 'You can't fall in love at fifteen.' Still, every time she saw him in the hallway, her feet would feel heavy, as if the bottoms of her shoes had suddenly been weighted with lead. Yet at the same time her knees would wobble, turning promptly into jello, her heart bursting to say something as it hammered against her rib cage.

_Go get'em_.

Her mother would float into her mind at those times, her words replaying in Ginny's head like a haunting whisper that threatened to drive her insane.

_Go get'em_.

She cautiously exited the stream of students heading towards their next class, fairly rolling aside into a spare corridor that was blissfully under-inhabited. Only a few stragglers lingered, chatting with their friends, and frankly not paying any attention to her. Giving them a brisk hello, just to avoid any suspicion that might arise if she ignored them completely, she pulled the piece of parchment out of her pocket and read it quickly.

She read it again, more slowly.

And again.

Her heart just about flew out of her throat in nervous anticipation--he wanted to _see_ her, _meet_ her again! Tonight, no less, and she found herself wondering what would demand such a sudden encounter. 'Oh god,' she thought, 'What am I going to do?'

She'd been avoiding him for the past week, and now she couldn't come up with any excuse to safely and consciencously get herself out of this situation. 'What am I going to do alone with him?' she wondered, smiling vaguely at the thought of kissing him madly, just to feel his body against her again, 'What am I going to say?'

Smiling, a bit embarrassed, she walked to her next class, thoughts of spilling out her heart's tumultous contents to him writhing pleasantly in her mind.

---------

Draco found himself waiting nervously for her in the Astronomy Tower, the vial of liquid cool against his leg. The sun was just going down, flickering brightly still, and he closed his eyes, resting his head against the wall as his feet dangled hundreds of feet above ground. He wished she would come quickly, so he could see her braced against the sunset, just like he'd planned; so he could finally relinquish his obsession with her. He just had to see her once, he told himself, only once and it would sate his heart's thirsty longing. He promised himself that.

He heard footsteps behind him, his heart leaping, but he did not turn around, waiting for her to speak first. "Malfoy?" That was her voice, no doubt, and it sent his lips curling upwards into a sheepish smile. She'd come.

"Weasley."

The air bristled with their silence, unspoken words seeming to linger in the air around them.

"What did you call me here for?"

He was a bit jolted by the concerned impatience in her voice, so swiftly swung his legs around, dipping down so his feet were plastered onto the floor as he sat on the window sill. His eyes took in her appearance, her cheeks flushed and her bright hair falling away from the messy bun she'd spun it into. The wisps framed her face, giving her cheekbones more prominence and blessing her with an almost unearthly beauty. His breathe caught.

She seemed equally speechless, her eyes flitting almost nervously over him. He felt a touch of satisfaction at the look in her eyes.

"I found a way to show you," he said, cutting the silence, watching the look on her face change from silent appraisal to slight shock.

"How?"

"You'll see...but first--" He stood abruptly, almost awkwardly, but quickly regained his normal feline elegance. Zipping to her side, he placed his hands on her robe-clad shoulders, finding himself yearning for it just to be skin. He could feel her tense under his touch as he pushed her forward, whether from apprehension or anticipation, he could not tell. Almost unconsciously, he bent so as to smell her hair, revelling in the familiar and coveted scent. He pushed her against the sill, so that her waist was taut against the stone. "Look at the sunset," he whispered into her ear, feeling tremors go down her body.

She looked, and could feel her hold her breathe. "It's beautiful."

He smiled, feeling strangely content, his deft fingers gently releasing her hair from the bun he'd previously admired. He let her hair tumble down across his arms, blissfully enjoying the feeling. Slowly, he turned her around to face him, and saw something in her eyes that made him step back. She stepped forward, but he motioned for her to stay. Cautiously, he reversed his steps, until he felt his back press against the other wall, watching as she looked at him, confused but willing.

There were tears in his eyes when he finally surveyed his work--it was just like his dreaming, the spitting image of it, and to see it in real, solid life was to be in heaven. "Oh god," he whispered, watching as her hair fluttered back, her creamy skin contrasting with the blues of her eyes and the blues of the sky, the reds and oranges bringing out the delicate fire in her hair. "It _is_ beautiful," he murmured, his heart hammering as he watched, "It's so beautiful."

He was caught in the moment, tangled in its sweet and trapping web, yet too enraptured to even attempt to free himself. He felt the wetness on his cheeks as the tears slipped out, his mind now set on only three words, three words that swirled around in his head, taunting him with their meaning and their truth. He saw, even as she moved forward, concerned at the tears on his face, saw even as she fell into his arms, her arms fastened around his neck in desperation, and after this he saw no more, because he closed his eyes and let himself fall away from everything, his hands suddenly at her lower back, and his lips struggling to kiss every bit of her he could get.

"I love you," he said in her ear, "I love you Ginny Weasley."

---------

When she heard his words, she stopped any movement she'd previously been capable of, her limbs freezing. It seemed only her heart moved, beating against her chest in excitement, pure joy. She pulled away from him, found tears on her cheeks, and kissed him. She kissed him, letting herself go, just letting herself be with him. It didn't matter, nothing mattered--all that mattered was that he loved her, and she loved him. This was her happily ever after, her happily ever after with her perfect Prince Charming.

She was startled when he pushed her away, startled when they both crumbled to the ground, as if without the other's support, they were nothing but broken beings. "I love you," he breathed out, his head in his hands, the white-blonde hair messy from her fingers running through it, "I love you..."

She sat back on her bum, crossing her legs and reaching out for him. Gently, she took his hand, raising his face to see his familiar grey eyes. "I love you, too," she said, hoping her eyes could convey how much she meant it, "I love you so much."

He took a deep breath, seeming to compose himself. She watched him closely, almost memorizing his movements, as he reached into his pocket, drawing out a vial filled with a dark blue liquid. "Is that...Cattivo Ricodare?" she questioned, recognizing the tone of the potion.

"Yes," he told her, "This is how I can show you. All you have to do is say the words and you'll see." He took another breath, his eyes sad, "What you see...promise me you'll never tell any one."

"I'll never tell any one, Malfoy," she said honestly, "I swear on my life."

"Promise me that after you see this..." Draco hesitated, "You'll never look at me differently. You'll still treat me like a Malfoy."

He saw her eyes cloud in confusion, but still she said, "I promise."

Finally, he took the deepest breath of all, staring meaningfully into her eyes, "And promise me that this will be the last time you ever try to see me, talk to me, be with me. Promise me you'll stop loving me. Promise me that this can go back to normal."

Ginny couldn't answer, she just sat there, shell-shocked, and frankly terrified. The prospect of never seeing him again, after all of this confession. She'd told him she loved him for god's sake--she _loved him_! And yet he still had the nerve to ask her to _stop_! "I love you," she whimpered, quietly, watching his face change from sad to, maybe, a bit relieved, "I'll always love you. I'll always try to see you, to talk to you, to be with you--because I _want_ to--I _need _to! How can you ask me something like that?"

"Gin..." His eyes fell to his lap, "Weasley, I'm still Malfoy. I haven't changed. It may seem like I have, but deep down I'm still the boy who tormented you for years. Don't you remember that?"

"Of course I do!" she said, her anger being sparked, "How could I forget? But at least I'm willing to forgive you, to forgive you for the better person I know you are!"

"I'm _not a better person_," he said, his voice growing in volume, "I'm a _Malfoy!"_

"So what! So, bloody, what?" she asked, her eyes flashing as she got to her feet. He followed suite, "Does being a Malfoy mean you're not a human? Does being a Malfoy mean you don't deserve to be loved?"

"_No!_" he shouted, leaning towards her, his eyes filled with angry sadness, even as hers brimmed over with tears, "It means I don't deserve to be loved by _you_. I don't deserve _you_." Angrily, he yanked her hand, prying open her palm and setting the vial in place. "Watch _this_. Watch it. And after you do, I _know_ you'll understand. You'll _see_ why you deserve more than I could ever give you. You'll understand why I've done what I have." He turned on his heels, ready to stomp out.

Ginny heart fluttered wildly, and she screamed after him, "You...you bastard! You _are your father's son_! You cold, heartless brute--how could you do this to me...?" She crumbled to the ground, tears streaming down her face, her heart crumbling just as her legs had. "I love you...I love you..." she whispered, his back stiff at the door, "Why can't you see I love you?"

She knew Draco could hear her, but he still wouldn't turn around. Instead, she heard a wild sob escape his lips, and then he was gone, his back straight in Malfoy-like dignity, his nose held high even though she had seen the tears on his cheeks.

She sat in the Astronomy Tower for a while, holding the vial between her fingers, rocking back and forth as she sobbed. Slowly, she calmed, though her heart still bled. Her Prince Charming...was not to be. Looking around, she faced the Astronomy Tower window, hoping to see the sunset. All she saw was the darkness of night.

**Author's Note: Okay, here it is. Read and Review.**


	13. Chapter 13

Sunsets

Draco wondered, as he walked away, if he had done the right thing. The guilt in his chest was almost unbearable, and he was unable to stifle it with thoughts of her having a better life without him. He could _try_ to give her a better life, god, he could _try_, and he would try so hard, he promised himself. He wiped tears off his cheeks before he exited the Astronomy Staircase, having descended the hundred and fifty or so steps in an almost trance-like state--he wiped the tears away and he shoved aside what he acknowledged to be infantile thoughts.

'You know better Draco,' he thought, his father dawning fearfully on the horizon in his mind, 'You know better.' He wanted to bang his head against something, wanted to hit himself so hard he just forgot everything.

Lord, how he wanted to forget.

---------

Ginny dodged questioning stares from the other students all the way back to her Dorm. Her eyes were puffy and no matter how hard she tried she couldn't bring herself to stop crying. She just _couldn't_. If she loved him, and he loved her, they should be able to be together for always. They should be able to love each other--why, why did it hurt so much to love him? Why did it hurt so much to love her Prince Charming? She felt as if all hope was gone, any thoughts of chasing after him, pursuing what she wanted, snuffed out of her mind. 'Mother,' she thought, slamming the door shut and cursing it locked, 'I've failed in the worse way possible. I can't do it--I can't do anything. The one person I just may love--no, I know I love, is making all the decisions, for us _both_, and it seems I'm not meant to have a say...even if it is my own life in question.'

She held the vial tight in her hand, wanting to crush the damned object that would show her his sorrows, show her the reason he couldn't be with her. She didn't want there to be _any_ reason that he couldn't be with her--it just wasn't right. Their paths should be clear, their paths should be wide open and filled with oppurtunities for their love to blossom. And here, clutched in her hand, was the very container that held this reason, that held the very calamity that pushed her away from him. Away from, she thought ironically, Draco Malfoy.

She'd never planned to fall in love with him, honestly. She'd never expected it to happen anywhere along the way. At first she'd just felt the need to help him--she'd been compelled; then, it somehow turned into something more. She didn't know how or when, but it had, and now she couldn't erase it from existence--she couldn't just pretend it had never happened when every breath she took had his name flowing out onto her lips. She lived for him now; she had a good family, best friends and all the happiness she could ever ask for, but now none of that mattered because with out him, everything was misery.

She curled up into her bed early that night, leaving her dorm-mates to figure out how to unlock the door themselves. She didn't care when they barged in and gave her angry lectures, cursing her from head to toe until they realized she was elsewhere, that her mind was too far away for even their furious shrieks to reach. Then, it was quiet, and Ginny lay there, distant, the vial still held in her shaking hands as silent sobs wracked her body.

She would owl her mum in the morning.

---------

The vial was forgotten by Sunday--or more so ignored. Ginny placed it beneath her pillow, somewhere she never looked and rarely touched. Ocassionally her fingers would brush past it at night, only to be snatched away and pressed desperately between her legs. She didn't want to know why he couldn't be with her--if there was actually a valid reason, she thought she may lose all hope in living life. This way, she could maybe go on thinking him a git, a git that she loved and a git that didn't _want_ to be with her.

She still hadn't told Helen. She hadn't told her bestfriend a word of her dilemnas, though Helen's previous cryptic statements the night before Hogsmeade were still unbearably haunting. Why did innocent, oblivious Helen who dated a new boy every week know so much about love to be able to effectively state, "It's better to have loved and lost, than to have never loved at all." And then her mother...Ginny shuddered in remembrance, remembering her mother's simple and precise reply to her most recent letter:

_I'm disappointed in you._

Yes, the words had stung Ginny more than any other. Childhood reprimands and scoldings all floated back into her mind--the same ones she had so taken for granted, the same ones she had thought she'd grown out of. She hadn't realized how much it would hurt to hear those words, or even to read them, from her mother...she hadn't realize how much it would ache her heart with the admittance that she had let Molly Weasley down.

'But I can't do anything, mum,' she wanted to whine, just as she had done when she was a child, 'I can't do anything if he's being a git, if he won't allow me to love him...' And then her mother would smile that ever maternal smile, gazing fondly down at her youngest child, _You can do anything you want, darling_.

'If only that were true,' she thought, bitterly as she settled down to sleep that night, Helen's probing questions as to Ginny's declining social ability still drifting about her head. 'If only I could do anything I want, I think I would turn back time and never be born.'

She knew what her mother would say to that, too. _And then I'd never have a daughter, never have a little girl to make me proud._

'But all I do is disappoint you.'

She shut her eyes, tired of the meagre grey light that seemed to always hover about nighttime. Why couldn't it ever be _black_? She flipped over. Why couldn't life ever be _simple_? She yawned, running a tired hand over her tired face. And why couldn't Draco Malfoy just let her _love him_?!

---------

Draco had just about hibernated the past few days away. He was only seen for classes and then, rather sparingly. It was as though he had become a shadow, loping recklessly about Hogwarts from class to class, ducking into hallways at the slighest sign of red hair and sliding to bruised knees as strawberry and vanilla smells wafted past him, oblivious.

He couldn't bear to face her if she'd seen the potion. He couldn't bear to see the scorn on her face, the final acceptance that she was better off without him. He couldn't bear it, so he hid from it. It was what he did best nowadays, and he figured he may as well master it before he went home for Christmas at the Malfoy Manor. He'd be doing a lot of hiding if he wanted to keep himself intact and injury-less enough to return to school, to get away from Lucius again. He'd be doing a lot of smuggling from room to room, creeping from corridor to corridor and securely charming his rooms locked every night.

He groaned, exhausted as he tumbled into his Dorm that Tuesday evening. He'd stopped going to meals--it was just too common a gathering place. He could bump into _any one_ there...he could bump into her. His heart seemed to give a twinge of displeasure from within his chest, as though he were starving it just as he had taken to starving himself. He flopped onto his bed--it was still light outside; everybody would be in the Great Hall having dinner--maybe, just maybe he could sneak down into the kitchens, or maybe even go out onto the grounds...

But he decided not to. Not only did he avoid Ginny Weasley; but it seemed he now avoided every one else, as well. He no longer wanted the bustling service of the house elves, eager to please; he no longer wanted the warmth of the sun upon the back of his head. All he wanted was Ginny Weasley, and Ginny Weasley was the one thing he could not have.

It was quite torturous, really, if you thought about it--and frustrating too. Draco had never been much of a decision maker; his father had made all the decisions, regardless of what any one else in the household thought. Narcissa had made one decision, one decision for herself, and though it seemed abundantly selfish, Draco could not help but congratulate her at her swift escape. His mother was his mother, and she had loved him in her Malfoy-like way, and he supposed he had loved her, too.

And now it had come Draco's turn to make a decision. He could have been selfish like his mother and taken Ginny Weasley for all she was worth; he could have ravished her, worshipped her body and soul, wrapped her in his love and given his life to protect her. But he didn't know if that would be enough to save her from his father, from the darkness his life had turned into--he didn't know if that would be enough to keep her happy.

Happy, like the way she was with her friends in the Great Hall; happy, like she was with her family of red-haired Weasels.

It occured to Draco how much he was unlike his mother. She had gone, not caring what would happen to him. But Draco had gone, knowing that though it would hurt him to leave the Weasley, the one girl, it seemed, who made his life worthwhile, it would make her happier, let her lead a better life.

He knew what his father would do to her if he found about their impromptu relationship--he knew, and he accepted the fact that he rather it be him than Ginny Weasley any day.

---------

Her heart caught in her throat when she saw him that Wednesday afternoon for Potions--her heart caught and it stuck. She felt as though she were a fish out of water, gasping for breath as something unknown choked her, squeezing the blood from her heart and rendering her paralysed. Everything tingled warning, everything shouted for her to run up to him, forced something solid and nutrituous down his throat, then make him sleep for a week--everything spun, and in the end all she could do was sit quietly at her desk, staring complacently down at the hardwood.

He looked a wreck, almost worst than he had when she'd first seen him this year. She hadn't seen him at meals, and now she knew why--he was probably starving himself to death, the git! Her heart clenched, she felt tears well up--fighting them back, her hands clasped the edge of the table; she couldn't allow this to happen. He mightn't want to be with her, but that didn't mean he should stop wanting to be in this world, too.

Quietly, she rose from her seat, careful not to alert Snape, and slid into the vacant chair next to him. He looked up from his notes, startled, then his eyes darkened and he looked back down, now furiously scribbling words onto the parchment. Gently, she reached her hand out and placed it over his free one, that lay upon the parchment to study it as he wrote. He looked up again, then away, his quille pressing so hard onto the paper that it broke.

He was such a mess, and it pained her to see him this way. His hair wasn't combed, his shirt wasn't ironed and it hung about his frame loosely, as though he were once again descending into the skeletal stage where she had found him at the beginning of the year. "Draco..." she whispered, after making sure no one was looking.

His head snapped around to look at her, his eyes as stormy and defiant as they had been that night in the Astronomy Tower.

"What are you doing to yourself?"

He got up abruptly, strolling swiftly out of the room and slamming the door behind him.

Snape looked up from his desk, eyes questioning and cold.

---------

Ginny stormed into her room after class, her stomach growling, though she fully intended to skip dinner. This wasn't fair. He couldn't do this to himself and not expect her to care! He couldn't keep on walking away from her like this! She wouldn't let him.

She yanked the potion out from beneath her pillow, furiously uncorking it. If this was what was keeping them apart, then she might as well know. She might as well see why he didn't want her, why he had convinced himself he couldn't be with her.

She sat on the edge of her bed, drawing the curtains closed around her. The Potion smelt sickly sweet, and it left a bitter taste in your mouth if you breathed too much of it. She was determined to know now, lord she was determined to know. He couldn't break her heart without her consent, she decided, he couldn't make her let her mother down unless she let him. She _would never let him._ Slowly, she raised it to her lips, whispering, "Cattivius Ricodara," into its still surface.

She had the impression that she was falling, falling, falling into something unfathomably deep and deadly, as though she had lost control of every nerve and muscle in her body and was now part of some swirl of uncontrollable motion. She couldn't see anything, though she had her eyes open--everything was black, yet everything was moving.

Her knees sent a painful jolt up her legs as her feet hit hard ground, and she looked around, puzzled. She was in a large room, icily furnished in black, silver with glimpses of forest green every here and there. At first, Ginny had no idea where she might be--eventually, the idea came to her that she was in the Malfoy Manor. The place was impeccably clean, as though it were not even a house that some one lived in; everything seemed expensive, right down to the silver beading on the plush cushions, and the sheen on the curtains.

That was another thing--the room was impossibly dark, it seemed, though there were lights all around. The black curtains seemed unwilling to let in any sunlight, giving the place an utterly dead look.

Ginny was just about to explore further when she heard a deathly scream, sending her carolling back into the reality of what this was, after all. Draco Malfoy's worst experiences, all compressed into a vial of tiny potion of which she was now viewing.

She spun around to where the scream had come from, flinching to see a slender woman with white-blonde hair strewn across the floor, her pale arms up around her head, shielding it from the thumping kicks she was receiving from an unsturdy looking man. Ginny recognized, with a pang of displeasure, that this was the same man who had dropped Tom Riddle's diary into her cauldron all those years ago...this was Lucius Malfoy.

Except, she noticed, younger and obviously in a rather volatile mood.

The woman's wails echoed throughout the house, and eventually Ginny began to hear the sobbing of a child in the background. She blinked away the view of the now bloodied woman, looking past her into the shadows where a little boy crouched, tears rolling down his cheeks as he protested meekly.

She knew who he was immedietely; a young Draco Malfoy, sobbing at the sight of his mother's broken body.

The scene switched, and Ginny was faced with that unbearable feel of vertigo.

This time she was in a dining room, where three people sat along the length of a very long and lavishly dressed table. The food on their plates were very little, but the decoration almost made up for that. Ginny recognized the woman she had seen before, sitting silently at one end, Lucius Malfoy sitting galantly at the other, and Draco, still a mere child, sitting quietly in the middle.

The atmosphere was tense, as though this family sitting down to eat with one another had never even met each other before. Ginny thought back, fleetingly, to her own noisy family dinners, filled with bursting laughter and unsanitary burps. Then, there was a small, hardly audible noise--a sneeze, from the young Malfoy. Ginny almost smiled at the timidity of it, but her adoration was quickly snuffed out as the bellowing voice of Lucius Malfoy rose about the room in a scream of anger.

Ginny had to turn away for what came next--it was too painful for her to look. She felt the tears grow in her eyes as she heard the child scream--as she heard Draco's wails, her Draco's wails. Her heart seemed to crack down the center as the voice matured, turning into the one she now knew--still being beaten, always being beaten.

The scene changed, and Ginny found herself in a bedroom. She could see a sliver of long white-blonde hair dipping off the bed, the same slender woman she had seen being beaten now laying across it, her body limp. Ginny couldn't endure what came next--she couldn't even listen.

And yet, she couldn't block it out. She couldn't turn away this time. She heard Lucius's screams for his son, heard his condemnations of the evidently deceased woman on the bed--she saw. And what she saw scarred her so deeply that the tears overflowed and her screams joined those of Draco Malfoy, echoing about the empty Manor, echoing above Lucius Malfoy's sick laughter.

---------

Ginny found herself on the bed, covered in the potion she had previously clutched in her shaking hands, covered in that and drenched in a sorrow so deep she felt she had no more initiative live.

The potion's pungent smell wafted about the room--but there was no one else there to complain. Tears streaked down Ginny's cheeks as she lay back on the bed, letting the vial fall from her loose fingers.

'Draco...'

**Author's Note: Happy Diwali and Eid Mubarak. Here it is, the chapter that took so very long, though not half as long as the next chapter will take :-) I'll have midterms soon so..yeah, go figure. Trying to be as angsty as humanly possible, not sure if I'm succeeding. Blame my boyfriend, he's made me happy.**

**And isn't Vaz just the coolest last name?**

**BTW, reviiiieeww!!**


	14. Chapter 14

Sunsets

When the other girls found her, there was a massive fuss about what exactly they should do. For once they seemed sympathetic, using handkerchiefs to wipe away the liquid from her trembling fingers, speaking quietly about what should be done. Should they take her to the Infirmary? Or make her shower, first? Eventually, one of them came up with the idea of calling Helen, who seemed to make an even bigger fuss. Ginny wasn't quite sure how, but eventually she found herself in the Hospital Wing, with Helen squeezing her sticky, sweat-dampened hands and the other girls sitting concernedly around her. She could make out Hermione, Parvati and Lavender, their faces the picture of worry.

Vaguely, she was aware of Madame Pomfrey sniffing her stiffening shirt, almost dry from her spill of the Potion. She recalled trying to swap away the portly woman's hands as her eyelids were pulled back, stared into, and then released, and she remembered swallowing a terrifyingly bitter liquid, urged into her mouth by a combination of Hermione and Helen.

After that the girls were asked to leave, and Ginny's clothing stripped off of her and sent down the washing chute. Madame Pomfrey left her in a pair of her own pajamas, to curl up on the bed and relieve the throbbing drowsiness that had now arisen in her head.

* * *

When she woke up, it was bright outside, the window near her bed letting warm sunlight fall across her face and sheets. She could hear the school awake only hallways away, staircases down--she could hear the moving of the world as it, too, woke up. Ginny stretched, her heart still heavy, opened her eyes, then closed them again. She didn't want to face anything right now. She just wanted to lie here in her pain and never leave. Everything seemed to come crashing down on her, everything seemed to have fallen inwards, pushing her, squeezing her, until finally she found herself broken. Nothing, she could do nothing. She felt tears begin to slip out of her eyes, tearing down the sides of her face and pooling onto the pillow.

She couldn't even save Draco. She couldn't have saved him if she'd tried. He'd been through so much, so much pain--she didn't even know what to do. She wanted to die for him, she wanted to take all of his pain and bestow it upon herself. She wanted to save him so badly; she never wanted to let anything like that happen to him again.

She couldn't believe it. A sob escaped her throat. He didn't want to be with her because...he didn't want her to get involved in the horror of his life? Why? Why? She wanted him to share it with her, she wanted to be able to help him through it, through the hard times, through the good times...through everything! She wanted to be his rock--even more so, she wanted to be the one who could take his pain away, who could make him smile and laugh.

She wanted to be his everything, because _he_ was _her_ everything.

Her breathing became harsh, every breath laborous as she thought of what torture he had been forced to endure. So much beating, so much humiliation--it was a wonder he could still appear so strong. She wanted to show him pleasures and wonders, and happiness and _love_. She wanted to give him everything his father had taken away, she wanted to give him _everything_.

"Miss Weasley!" it was Madame Pomfrey, who bustled quickly to Ginny's side, propping her head up and slipping the same bitter tasting potion down her throat that she had last night. "Miss Weasley, you have to rest."

Ginny looked confusedly up at her, already feeling a type of content tiredness wash over her. Her eyes were heavy and..."Whyyy?" she slurred, everything about her seeming dogged, everything about her wanting sleep, "I'mmm fiinnnne."

Madame Pomfrey wiped away the tears that were still falling from her eyes. "Just sleep, dear. You'll be fine by tomorrow."

Ginny frowned, but had no time to question further. Instead she found herself falling back to sleep, slipping, slipping away from consciousness...

* * *

Draco knew Ginny was missing the moment he didn't see her that morning on the way to his first class. There was no glimpse of red hair that made him duck into the familiar corridor, no lingering scent that made his heart race and cheeks hope to flush. He frowned, concerned. Maybe she was late. He thought no more of it.

By the third class, he was swearing, cursing, and swearing some more that she had just slept in. But everything about him seemed to itch, every nerve seemed to be on end. He saw her friends in a corner, heard her name being uttered...He stared at them for a long time, a battle taking place inside his stomach. Where was she, where was she...?

He decided he had to know. He didn't care if she actually _had_ just slept in, didn't care if he was worrying for nothing--but if something was genuinely wrong...

No, no, he shouldn't. He should forget about her. What if her friends told her he'd been asking about her? Then what would she think? No, no, he definitely shouldn't. It would only make it harder for both of them to move on...'Like I'll ever move on,' he figured bitterly, turning to walk away, the prospect of another class to sit through, not knowing where she was seeming strangely daunting.

A tap on his shoulder alerted him to some one else's presence, and he twirled around faster than lightning, immediately on guard. It was that girl Weasley sat with during dinner and walked with in the hallways...Helen? That was it: Helen Baxter.

"I'm not _stupid_, you know Malfoy," she said, her voice strangely void of emotion, yet unnervingly powerful. Draco was temporarily shocked--had he done anything to imply that...? He decided to keep quiet, looking away, highly perturbed. The girl had one piercing brown stare, as though she were staring right into you even if you weren't staring right back at her. There was a moment of silence, where Draco bristled in her grip, uncomfortable, and then, "She's in the Infirmary."

Draco's eyes snapped into a locked stare with Helen's. _She's in the Infirmary._ The hell...

All Draco knew was that one second he'd been staring into the smugly knowing eyes of Ginny's Weasley's queer friend Helen Baxter, and that the next he was banging on the doors of Infirmary.

* * *

Helen stood where Malfoy had left her, smiling with a certain level of contentedness. The corridors were almost empty now, most if not all of the students having already departed to their next class. She knew that Malfoy was going to the Infirmary, though, just as well as he'd known who they'd been refering to as '_she_'. Oh, he was a smart one.

'We were right, Mrs. Weasley,' she thought to herself. After all, no one could deny a mother's intuition--sometimes, the best friend just had to pitch in a little.

* * *

Ginny only woke late that night, greeted by the sight of the Hospital Wing ceiling, so much like the one she woke up to in her Dorm. Grey and lonely, grey and lonely...so much like Draco Malfoy's eyes. His eyes were grey...no, not grey; they were silver and yellow and ebony and all of those wonderful colors and shades she would never be able to describe. She could feel those eyes though, feel them in a part of herself that seemed to know so well. She could feel everything that happened in those eyes, even though now she couldn't imagine ever peering into them after what she now knew. His torture, his pain...

Maybe he'd never be a saint, never be some one who got his kicks out of helping people. She didn't know, but she thought she could fathom what he was really like. Maybe she'd seen some glimpses of him throughout their encounters this year, maybe, just maybe. He wasn't kind, or sweet-hearted deep down inside--that was not him, and she was not going to lie to herself and say so. But he was a person, and Ginny Weasley knew that all people are essentially good. To her knowledge, it was only the factors one experienced in life that made you evil, and still a part of you would still remain humane, still itch at every nasty thing you said. Maybe Draco Malfoy had lost sight of that part of himself a long while ago, amidst beatings and cruel words--but still, he was a person. More importantly, he was a person Ginny loved, despite all flaws and imperfections, despite any facts that might have gone against him.

He was her Prince Charming, and for every Princess, there was only _one_.

Her heart seemed to sink again, just as it did after the effects of what was doubtlessly a Dreamless Sleep Potion wore off--all the memories of that anguish, so many agonies...all of those memories of what she'd seen seemed to rush back into her mind and haunt her, lingering over her like a stifling blanket. Oh, she didn't even want to breathe any more. She wanted to hold her breath and die, die, die, die like Draco Malfoy should have done--he should have died and escaped this cruel world. Escaped all the horrors he'd had to go through, escape all the things no person should ever have to tolerate, let alone live in.

She made a move to turn over, and only then became aware of a weight pinning down her knees, a grip loosely engaged on her fingertips. She frowned, the initial embers of panic welling in her chest, then confusion. She raised her head, and in the darkness managed to squint out a sliver of white-blonde hair, a robe-clad form half-strewn across her feet. Her heart softened, then seemed to shatter. Here he was. _Here he was._

He was holding her hand, and he was still in his school robes. How long had he been here? She lay back, feeling tears rise in her eyes. He'd cared enough to come...She looked down at their intertwined fingers, his falling slightly from hers in sleep. She held on a bit tighter, the warmth of his large hand welcome, the comforting effect it had on her soul unparallel.

Oh, he'd come...she sat up, gently so as not to wake him, idly placing her other hand on his forehead to brush back his hair. He looked exactly like he had that day in Hogsmeade when they'd...slept together. Oh, how she missed the feeling of him next to her, so warm and big and protective. She could just be lost in him like that, laying next to him all night, just knowing he was there.

He shifted, his eyes fluttering open, and she smiled as those mercury orbs met hers. The moment seemed to be frozen, a smile dawning on her lips and relief rising in his eyes. It was as though nothing else mattered, nothing except for him, for him so close to her, for him...too far away.

Their lips met in a gentle frenzy, his hands falling around her waist, her hands finding their way to his shoulders, his face...oh, she wanted him all, she wanted to show him how good love could be, how he shouldn't have ever had pain. No, he never should have had pain, never, ever, ever...all she needed was a chance, a chance to show him...

He pulled away, his hand cupping her cheek with tender affection. "I'm so sorry..." he murmured, his nose pressed against hers, eyes pouring regret, shadowing confusion, "I'm so sorry."

She took a breath. "For what?"

"Madame Pomfrey told me..." he seemed to hesitate; she could see reluctance unfold in his eyes, "I'm sorry."

Her eyes screwed up as he pulled her into his embrace, "What _did_ happen?"

He pulled away again, fixing himself next to her on the bed, twisting his mouth into a grimace. "You went into a state of shock after you...came away from the effects Cattivo Ricodare." He bowed his head, seemed to go through a moment of thorough indecision. "It's my fault, I'm so sorry."

She took a deep breath. "I love you, you know." Oh, so much had happened to him--she wasn't going to let him leave her again--no, never. She didn't care what he thought, didn't care if he wanted to protect her--_she_ was going to protect _him_.

He burrowed his head into the crook of her neck, showing a kind of weakness she had never before encountered. In the dark, she could only feel his silent tears that began to soak through her pajama top. "You...you saw?"

Her heart cracked, her arms wrapping instinctively around him. "I saw."

* * *

Draco's heart broke at the words. She'd seen, she'd seen and yet...yet she was still holding him. She didn't push him away in disgust, didn't hesitate to look him in the eyes. She was treating him just the same, just the same and so much more. Now that she knew, it felt as though a weight had been lifted away from his shoulders, it felt as though he were lighter, as though all of those things that had happened were a little bit longer ago. Ginny Weasley was magic, oh she was magic--and he loved her with all his heart.

Still, the guilt in his stomach was hard to deny. She'd gone into shock after what she'd seen--it had disturbed her that much...worry knawed at him. This was bad for her psycological state of mind...he didn't want anything to happen to her, and yet the feel of her body, so small and fragile in his embrace was unbearably satisfying. He wanted more, oh he wanted so much more. He wanted more of this happiness, this abatement that came when he was with her...he wanted so much more, and he didn't know if he'd be able to tear himself away.

"I won't let you go away again," she said, and he could hear the tears in her voice, "I'll never let you leave me after what I saw. I don't care what you think. I don't care. I just love you."

And he loved her, too, he loved her so much...He couldn't stand to feel her body shuddering with sobs, couldn't stand it; he pulled away, keeping her close so that he could wipe away her tears, and kiss her again. Her hands traced patterns along his back, his hands desperately holding her near...how could he leave her after this? It was one time too many; he knew now he couldn't stand to be away from her, he knew now that it just wasn't possible for him to do. He had to be near her, or he'd go mad. He'd go stark, raving mad--he loved her _so much_.

He pulled away to get a breath, his mouth tasting pleasantly of her, surrounded by her familiar scent. "I don't want to leave you again, Weasley," he said, running a finger along her collarbone, "I don't want to..."

"Then don't," she told him, "It's caused me too much pain being without you...and now that I know. Now that I know..."

"I don't want to fight myself for you any more. I don't want to have to lay awake alone, praying that you'll be better off without me," he said, "I love you too much for that."

"Love me, then," she stated, "Love me for always, because I'll always love you. Because I can't live without you. Because I'll never be better off without you...because you're my everything." And there was a certain finality about those words that would cease all speaking for the rest of the night.

They stared into each other's eyes, then, lost in revelation, lost in each other. Neither wanted to move, neither wanted to leave. Moments like these were perfect, moments like these were all lovers like them would ever need.

It was many minutes before Draco, slowly, adjusted his position on the bed, moving so that she was on top of him, her small body against his chest, her legs tangled with his beneath the blankets. Then, the world was silent and it was truly night. She fell asleep like that, and he couldn't have been more happy to accomodate, trailing butterfly kissing along her exposed neck, running fingers through her hair...

Ginny Weasley had found her Prince Charming. Draco Malfoy had found his Sunset.

**Author's Note: One more chappy left! What shock! What terror! Well, I think every one knows how this one is going to end. No more tragic twists at the end, like in aBR...or maybe not. Muahahaha ;-) Oh I love my boyfriend, I love my boyfriend, I love my boyfriend. Yeah. I'm so crazy about him...I've been crazy about him for a year and two months, and I don't think it's going away...He's going to make all of my stories turn out happy _after _Sunsets (hinthint) **

**One.More.Chappy.**

**Review for encouragement, and maybe (just maybe) it'll be up by next week :P**


	15. Chapter 15

Sunsets

_Above upon the sunset's edge,_

_They'll sit, in love, and ponder;_

_How they could have missed this gift,_

_That caused their hearts to wander._

That summer, two lone figures sat upon the roof of the Weasley's old house, staring out at the horizon in the distance. It was just before sunset, and the sky was in that gorgeous reddened state where the sun contrasted its brilliant yellow to the rest of the world, shining like a beacon to their eyes. Blue eyes, speckled yellow, glittered in contentment, shady grey eyes showed an overwhelming extent of happiness and satisfaction; both were trained on what would soon be a gorgeous display of colors and comfort.

"It was a beautiful ceremony," Ginny told him softly, "I've never seen Bill so happy." She wore a sheek, black dress that fell to about mid-thighs, and Draco's head lolled drowsily on her spaghetti-strap clad shoulder, his hand comfortable on her bare leg. In her hair were interwoven a mass amount of white-roses, which he had bought for her, and from her neck hung her Valentine's Day present: a tiny coiling emerald flower.

"I've never seen your mother so happy," he stated solemnly as her fingers found his hand and traced tingling patterns along them.

Ginny smiled, too. Molly Weasley had seemed strangely knowing this evening, but especially pacified that her daughter had had a date.

_"Is this your Prince Charming?" she'd whispered, winking to her daughter at the tall, handsome Malfoy, adorned in a black suit._

_Ginny had blushed, her hand at her neck scratching incessantly. She took a deep breathe and, "Ron still doesn't like him, but we've been going out since October of this year and he's really not all that bad and maybe if you could get used to him he'll get used to you, and please tell dad to be civil and--"_

_"I approve!" the portly woman had stated, her rosy cheeks red in excitement, "He's a dashing young fellow, and I'd never doubt your judgement."_

And so it was. Draco Malfoy had been her Prince Charming since that night at the Hospital Wing, though Ron had been especialy enraged to find them in the same bed that morning. Ginny could only thank Madame Pomfrey for being on hand, or else the burns, boils and bruises obtained might had never gone away. It was true Draco and Ron still had bitter fights, but thankfully now they were mostly verbal..._mostly_. Ginny had tried to convince both parties to do otherwise, but it seemed male pride overshadowed her coaxing words every time.

So when, and whenever they fought she found her wand in her hand and to their throats, which was only really effective once they were Stupified.

Ginny and Draco had both stayed at Hogwarts that Christmas, after Ginny pleaded constantly with Dumbledore to side with Draco on the matter. Lucius had been furious, of course, but in the end Draco's 'big, important Transfiguration assignment that only the Hogwarts library could have books on' had won. Dumbledore, though curious, hadn't questioned as to why the youngest Weasley was suddenly becoming so chummy with the youngest Malfoy, but even he, by then, had heard the rumours.

Ginny and Draco, for the most part, managed to keep their relationship relatively quiet. But still, by Christmas word managed to circulate after some one had seen them, _"holding hands by the lake they were, as comfortable as heaven!"_ That had been an adjustment, and Draco had sneered at one too many curious bystanders, Ginny prefering to simply laugh off their questions and daring glares.

Valentine's Day was spent in Hogsmeade at the Three Broomsticks, eating lemon-cake and drinking warm Butterbeer. Draco had dusted the snowflakes from Ginny's hair, and she had gave him the biggest Nuggie of his life, to the laughing and cheering of their fellows, plus Rosmerta. The woman seemed to look at them a little more warmly than others, as though she thought herself the stemming of their relationship. Then, just before curfew, as he was about to leave her at the portait hole, he gave her the necklace, and she'd never kissed him so hard, or held onto him for so long.

_"You make my card feel stupid," she'd told him, smiling widely._

_"Never," he said, his smirk teasing, "This card is the best thing I've ever been given."_

Of course their relationship wasn't all time spent in heaven--there were times where Ginny felt so helpless, so saddened that all she could do was hold him. Those times were mostly when Lucius sent letters, letters to Draco asking how he was doing, how school was and when he'd come to visit him. Draco, of course, never replied, and Ginny urged him not to. She swore to him she'd find away to keep him away from Lucius, swore through her tears she'd never let him go back.

But he'd _had_ to go back for Easter, and Ginny had spent her time moping around her Dormitory, lingering by the windows in wait of an owl from him. It had killed her to be without him for one whole week, to not know what was happening to him, to not know if he was alright. He'd only sent her one letter, hastily written and blotched in ink.

_I'm fine._

She didn't think so, but she knew better than to reply. Instead, she sobbed and wailed for the rest of the week, to her friends' severe displeasure--not even Helen could have made it better. When he returned, she just about dragged him to the Room of Requirement, order him to strip and healed every bruise she found, kissed every wound and carressed every inch of him that shuddered in pain and regret.

_"It was terrible," he told her quietly, as she ran her hands over his torso, tracing the scars as they lay back on the conjured bed, "He beat me..."_

_She swallowed a lump in her throat, "Did he...?"_

_He wouldn't look at her, and she knew. All she could do that night they spent in the Room of Requirement, was cry onto his chest, kissing him, hugging him, as though it were essential for her sanity._

This summer, Ginny had looked him straight in the eye. "Draco Malfoy, you are now seventeen years old. Old enough to move out of your father's house."

He'd looked at her, confused, "Where would I go?"

She'd twisted her mouth into a smile, hesitant but reassuring. "My house may not be the neatest place, but it's actually quite big on the inside..."

He'd grinned then, pulling her in for a hug. "Really?"

She nodded, "Mum says it's fine. I haven't told her it's you yet...nobody knows it's you. I suppose they think it's Helen. But mum's all for it..."

His smile faded a bit. "Your brothers hate me. Your family hates me."

"They don't!" she told him, then quietly, "I don't."

It was enough for him.

So now they sat on her roof, waiting for the sunset. Ginny knew that in her life time, she would do many great things. She could probably change the world in the near future, could save some one's life, could save many people's lives. But she also knew, and accepted, that no matter what she did she would never be able to take away some of the pains that suffered Draco Malfoy. No matter how much she loved him, how long she loved him, some things would remain with him forever, just as some would remain with her. She couldn't change the past--neither one of them could change the past; but they could shape their future, together.

She would do many great things in her lifetime, but among the greatest she would always count sitting to watch the sunset with Draco Malfoy.

That night, the sunset was more beautiful than ever.

_Now the sunset will look over them,_

_And bless their love to grow,_

_And how it brought them together as such,_

_Only he will ever know._

**Author's Note: There it is, the big finale to Sunsets, the story that took me about a year to write? Mhmm, was it really that short of a time? I feel as though this story has been with me forever. Anyhow, you all see it's a happy ending--and you can't blame my boyfriend for changing my opinion on how it should end, because this was how it was destined to end from the beginning. I could never let Draco suffer :-) **

**Well...there we are. Goodbye Sunsets!**

**R&R!**


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